Trouble in Abundance. Arlette Lees
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He opens his eyes and rests his chin on my shoulder.
“You have beer breath,” I say. He thumps his tail happily. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and finger-comb my layered shag of chestnut brown hair. My hair is no-nonsense, like most of my clothes… wash, dry and fly.
The boys and I work Sundays on rotation, but with Early in the hospital and Mike sick in bed, I’m lead officer on what I’ve tagged The Blonde Beauty Case. There will be no lying in bed reading Fargo the funny papers. I feed and water the dog, shower and dress and take him for a walk along the river. When he’s done his business we pile into the pickup and drive to the Stop and Go. Tammy says Mike has a roaring case of the flu and could be down for a week or more. I promise that I’ll keep him updated. I buy coffee and a bear claw. Fargo eats the bear and leaves me the claw.
Frack and I pull into the station at the same time. I stay to make some calls and he leaves to canvas the households within a mile of the crime scene, hoping someone might have seen or heard something the night of the homicide. I get no answer at the Seabright residence and figure they’ve gone on to church. By mid-afternoon, still unable to reach them, I wonder if they’ve stayed on at the lake. I drum my fingers on the desk and call the residence of the high school principal, Nestor Gregorius. His wife Caroline picks up.
“This is Robely down at the station, Caroline. Is Nestor around this morning?”
“I’m sorry, he’s gone north for the weekend, but I expect him home later this evening.”
“Wild turkey or deer?” I ask.
“It’s deer this time. Thank god, he’s a terrible shot. There’s nothing I hate more than walking into the garage and bumping into a deer hanging upside down from the rafters. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Not really. He has my cell phone number. Have him call me if he gets in before nine or so, otherwise I’ll call him at school in the morning.”
In the case of a missing person I’d run off flyers, tack them on telephone poles, run the photo in the press and pass them out to businesses, but what I have is a body and a missing family. I can’t very well plaster the town with photos of the homicide scene.
I tap my fingers on the desk, drink too much coffee and pace up and down the empty office waiting for a call that never comes. The town is virtually closed down on Sunday’s or I’d be canvasing the shops and asking questions. I continue to call the Seabright’s throughout the afternoon, but no one picks up.
I try looking at the case from another perspective. It’s possible the victim is older than I think, in her early twenties and living on her own. If she works and has no roommate or significant other, she might not be missed until Monday. It’s also possible she’s not local. She could be a hitchhiker from another town or another state. Several years ago a woman was murdered in Chicago and her body dumped in the snow near Racine.
At the end of the day not one call has come into the station, nor has Frack unearthed a single viable clue. No one living near the murder scene had noticed anything out of the ordinary that night. I leave my cell phone number with the 911 operator, lock up and go home. I climb the back stairs to my room to avoid getting into it with Gladys again. I change into jeans, a red angora sweater and penny loafers, then slip my silver and turquoise bracelet on my wrist, grab my jean jacket, whistle to Fargo and head out the door.
Unable to get the case off my mind, I return to the crime scene looking for a missed clue among the leaves, a message written in the clouds, an epiphany on the wind, anything to point me in the right direction. I find Frack beneath the oak tree in a leather jacket and high top boots, his pickup parked at the edge of the field. I step under the crime tape. Fargo lies down in the shriveled grass and puts his chin on his paws.
“Hi beautiful,” says Frack.
“That’s Deputy Beautiful to you,” I say with a smile. “Did the team miss anything?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve walked the area a dozen times. A wallet with an I.D. would have been nice.” A cold wind whips through my hair and I give a little shiver. Frack casually pulls me against him, the back of my head resting lightly on his chest.
“You feel so damn good,” he says. “Want a cigarette?”
“You can look at Gladys and ask me that?”
“You couldn’t look like Gladys if you smoked three packs a day.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment…sort of. It’s official. Mike’s got the flu. He won’t be back for days.”
“Tammy told me when I went in for a Lotto ticket. I guess we’re partnered up on this one.” He gently picks an oak leaf out of my hair. “I can’t have a little girl alone out there with a murderer on the loose.”
“Don’t start with me.”
Frack’s leather and tobacco smell is comforting. It makes me feel safe and taken care of. I can’t remember what my father looked like, but I remember his scent: leather, cigarette smoke, pine trees. People who knew him say he was a nice man, a big French Canadian from Quebec Province. I’ve been told little about him except he’s the only man my mother didn’t marry, sticking me with Gladys’s maiden name. I once asked her why they never married. She said he wanted her to change her ways and that ended the relationship. I want her to change her ways too, but it’s not going to happen.
“Do you realize we’re dispatched to forty or fifty accidents for every murder?” I say. “This is the first murder-mystery I’ve been assigned to and we’re down two men.”
“What do you mean, the first?”
“Five years ago Ellie Fisher shot her abusive husband while he was sleeping. When we walked in she was sitting at the kitchen table with the gun in front of her. Six months later Herbert Henderson killed Roger Dooley in a bar fight. He had a knife in his hand and blood on his clothes. Then there was that wacky old woman ran her grown son down with a tractor because he wouldn’t drive her to her Bible study group. None of them were whodunits.”
“You’re right. I guess we can’t phone this one in.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say, giving him a nudge.
Smoke from his cigarette trails off in the wind and I feel his warm breath in my hair.
“You sure smell good,” he says.
“It’s coconut shampoo from the Dollar Store,” I tell him. A dust devil sends the fallen leaves somersaulting through the air. “I’m keeping Fargo if he goes unclaimed, but I’m still hoping he leads us to the identity of the victim. We’ve done everything we can until the town opens up tomorrow.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with people around here. They think Sunday is for family and church,” he jokes, giving me a little squeeze. Wind ruffles my hair and I open my eyes.
“Makes it hard to get anything done. I’m going to the high school in the morning with the girl’s photo. You wanna come?”
“Sure,” he says. “You wanna to go for a drink tonight?”
I take a long moment to decide.
“Not to Gladys’s,” I say. “We’re not on friendly terms at the moment. I’m moving out.”
“No kidding. You got a place lined up?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Of course there’s always my extra bedr…”
“No, don’t even go there.”
“How about we hit The Edge of Town? We can take a quiet booth in the back and go over the case.”
“Okay. And don’t look at me like that. This is a work date, not a roll in the hay.”
“Come on. Look me in the eye. Tell me you don’t want to.”