Do-It-Yourself - Spackled And Spooked Part 12

"My point," Melissa said with rather strained patience, obviously determined to make it, whether I wanted to hear it or not, "is that I'm happy for you. He's a sweet guy. You're lucky."

It sounded more like she was saying that I was lucky he'd chosen me. Which I was, although I rather resented the implication that he'd had to stoop to find me.

"Thank you," was all I said, however.

"How are things going?" Melissa glanced over at me as she turned the truck off the highway and onto Primrose.

"With Derek? Fine, thank you."

"Does he still spend all night tinkering with his toys instead of coming to bed?" She smiled reminiscently but not without another quick look at me from under her lashes to gauge my reaction. I kept my face immobile, or as immobile as I could manage.

"No idea. We don't live together."

"Ah." It was all she said, but it spoke volumes. I felt myself flush, and forced it back, biting my lip hard. Dammit, I was not going to let this conniving witch get to me.

We pulled onto Becklea after another minute, and I peered out the winds.h.i.+eld at all the excitement as we neared the end of the cul-de-sac. The crowd was even bigger today than yesterday, and I saw several of the same faces, including those belonging to my neighbors. Minus Lionel Kenefick, of course, who was at work down at Devon Highlands. And minus Venetia Rudolph, who was probably keeping an eye on things through her curtains, just like yesterday.

The same two police cruisers were back again today, along with a paler blue state police vehicle. K-9 was written on the back in white letters, and in the distance, back at the tree line on the far left side of the house, I could see a blue-clad trooper and his canine companion sniffing along the property line. From this distance, the dog looked like a beautiful specimen of German shepherd, and Stella the s.h.i.+h tzu was straining at her leash to be allowed to go back there and make friends. Arthur Mattson, yet again deep in conversation with Irina and Denise, kept swaying sideways with her frantic pulls.

There was also, I noticed with a sinking heart, a news van from one of the Portland TV stations parked at the curb. They weren't doing anything exciting at the moment, just desultorily filming the K-9 team inspecting the perimeter of the yard, but if anything happened, or if anyone interview-worthy appeared, I felt certain they'd jump into action. I just hoped they wouldn't want to jump on me.

I needn't have worried. When Melissa pulled the car to a stop behind the K-9 vehicle, the camera zoomed our way and immediately focused on her. I told myself not to take it personally. I hadn't dressed to be on camera, and then I'd been in an accident, while Melissa always looked beautifully groomed and put together. Still, it wasn't easy. I glanced resentfully at the camera on my way past, moving carefully. Everything hurt.

Melissa smiled. "Hi, Tony. What are you doing here?" They air kissed.

"Got word that your police chief brought in the cadaver dogs." The TV journalist, forty-something and das.h.i.+ng in Armani, with unnaturally brilliant, black hair and sensuous, slightly too-full lips, seemed happy to explain. "I thought it might be worth the drive out here, just in case it's another case like John Wayne Gacy. You know me, always hopeful."

He winked.

My face twisted in disgust. John Wayne Gacy was the worst serial killer in U.S. history. He murdered thirty-three young men and boys back in the 1970s and buried their bodies in the crawls.p.a.ce under his house in the Chi cago suburbs. Only someone with the emotional maturity of a turnip would wish for the same sort of situation here.

Melissa rose to the occasion like a true professional. "Would you like a comment? On air? My ex-husband owns the house, and he was the one who found the first body. He was also part of the excavation yesterday."

"Will he talk?" Tony said hopefully. I snorted. Melissa smiled apologetically.

"Better not to ask him, Tony. But you can have me." She preened.

"Who wouldn't want you, Missy?" Tony said gallantly. I almost gagged.

Leaving the two of them to work out their on-air comment, since I had no authority over what they did anyway, I headed for the backyard and the entrance to the crawls.p.a.ce. I wanted to see my boyfriend. The whole crash had shaken me up, and I craved comfort. I smiled a good morning at the neighbors on my way past but didn't stop to chat, and I waved at Venetia's lace curtains on my way around the corner.

In the crawls.p.a.ce, Wayne and Derek were busy taking down all the temporary floodlights they'd strung yesterday. "K-9 unit said there's nothing else here," Wayne explained when he opened the low door for me. "Just the one body. They're checking the yard now."

I nodded. "I saw them. They're working their way around the perimeter. At the rate they're going, in another hour or so they'll probably get over to the side with Miss Rudolph's house."

Wayne cracked a smile but didn't answer, just stepped aside to let me in. I looked for Derek. He was on the other side of the crawls.p.a.ce, with his back to us, and seemed to be busy with the electrical wires. In fact, he didn't seem to realize I was there at all. It was a little disconcerting, to be honest. If Ray had called, and if Derek knew I'd been in an accident, why wasn't he showing a little more concern?

"Don't worry," Wayne said, obviously reading my mind or the expression on my face. "He knows you're OK. Ray was kind enough to a.s.sure him of that. Several times."

"Oh. Good."

That was all I got out, because now Derek turned and noticed my presence. And if I'd had occasion to complain about his att.i.tude earlier, now I didn't. He dropped what he was holding and hurried toward me, shoulders hunched in the low crawls.p.a.ce.

I braced myself-he looked like he was thinking of s.n.a.t.c.hing me up and crus.h.i.+ng me against his manly chest-but in the end, he just stopped in front of me, blue eyes intent on my face. "Avery."

"Derek," I answered. To my utter humiliation, my lower lip started trembling and my eyes filled with tears.

"C'mere." He pulled me into his arms, but gently. I leaned my cheek against the soft cotton of his T-s.h.i.+rt and breathed in his now-familiar scent of citrus shampoo and Ivory soap mixed with wood glue and mineral spirits, while I listened to the steady beat of his heart against my ear. It's amazing how something as small as that can help ground a person.

"I'm sorry about your truck," I said a minute later, after I had extricated myself from his arms and he had, maybe even reluctantly, let me go.

"It's just a car," Derek answered. "What happened?"

I told him and watched the look in his eyes go from upset to angry when I described the car hitting the ditch. "I'm sorry," I said wretchedly. "I did the best I could. I wasn't sure I'd be able to make the turn at the gates, and I didn't want to hit the school bus, so I thought it would be better just to get off the road."

"The brakes didn't respond?" Wayne interjected. I shook my head.

"I had the brake pads replaced last month," Derek said, eyes flat and hard. "Nothing wrong with them then."

"And the airbag didn't work, either?"

"Good thing I was wearing my seat belt, huh?" I managed a bright smile. Both men glowered.

"Let me know what Peter Cortino says," Wayne told Derek, who nodded.

"Melissa's out front, talking to a TV journalist from Portland," I said in an effort to change the subject. "On camera. You may want to go out there and stop her. Or make a statement or something. He told us he was hoping for another John Wayne Gacy."

The chief of police rolled his eyes but headed for the crawls.p.a.ce door. Derek was right behind him. "C'mon, Avery. If Melissa goes on TV and makes this into a case of serial killers and multiple bodies buried on our property, we can forget about ever selling this place."

"He sounded like he'd love to talk to you," I said, tagging along behind, "so maybe you can get him to interview you live, too."

"Between me and Wayne, we'll get him straightened out." He held the crawls.p.a.ce door open so I could get out. The K-9 team had reached the back of the property now and was making its slow way along the tree line. The dog alternated sniffing the ground with sniffing the air, while its handler, a young woman, tall and slender, stood patiently by, occasionally moving forward a step when the dog finished smelling its area and moved on.

"Where's Brandon?" I asked. Brandon Thomas hadn't been in the crawls.p.a.ce, and I hadn't seen him out front, either, when I arrived.

Derek tossed his head, causing a streaked lock of hair to fall into his eyes. "In there."

"Inside the house?"

He nodded. "The dog marked inside. Not surprisingly, since there's been lots of dead bodies there. Long ago, though, so he didn't mark strongly. At least that's what Daphne said. She's his handler. Nice girl."

"So Brandon's looking at the inside of the house, just in case?"

"I told him it was unlikely he'd find anything. We've ripped up all the old flooring and taken down all the old wallpaper. All that's left are the bare bones. No pun intended."

"I had an idea," I said. "Remember that earring I found in the kitchen the other day? The one that was similar to what Shannon was wearing that night at Guido's? Do you think it might have been . . ." I hesitated delicately, "hers? The skeleton's? Shannon said they were popular four or five years ago, and that everyone had them."

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Derek answered. "Four years is about the length of time she's been down there, judging from the bones and what's left of the tissue."

"Tissue?" My stomach objected to the idea. "You didn't mention tissue."

"I didn't think you'd want to know. And it wasn't much. A little brain matter, some hair. Dark. Shoulder length. Very dry and brittle now."

"That seems like a helpful thing to know. Any ideas of . . ." I swallowed, "eye color?"

"Afraid not. Eyes are some of the first things to go. I won't tell you why." He put an arm around my shoulders. "You look like you're gonna faint. Need to sit down?"

"I think maybe that'd be a good idea. I was feeling a little woozy to begin with, and all these details are creeping me out. I'd never make it as a cop, or a doctor. At the rate we're going, I'm not sure I'll make it as a home renovator."

"And that reminds me," Derek said, "if I don't cut Melissa off at the pa.s.s and talk to this reporter myself, neither of us is going to make it as a home renovator."

I nodded. "Go. I'm going to sit here a minute and breathe."

"Take your time," Derek said. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes. If you feel better before then, I'll be out front." He strode around the corner of the house while I sank down on an old, overturned, concrete planter.

I felt like my carefully constructed, brand-new life was coming apart in my hands. Moving to Waterfield after spending the first thirty-one years of my life in New York City had involved taking a huge leap of faith. I'd been prepared for boredom, cold, hard work, failure, and maybe some initial resistance from the native population. It hadn't occurred to me to prepare for having my stomach turned on a regular basis by dead bodies dropping in my path, and for that matter, for a quick and early death because someone was out to get me.

OK, so no one had said-at least not out loud-that someone had tampered with the truck. But Derek's a.s.sertion that the brakes were new, coupled with Wayne's instruction to pa.s.s on whatever the mechanic at Cortino's said, not to mention the look that had pa.s.sed between the two men, was enough to put the idea in my head. That and the fact that the truck had been parked outside Derek's loft overnight, open, with the keys under the mat. Anyone could have sauntered behind the hardware store at some point and done something to it. As Dr. Ben's son, Derek was well known in town, most people knew where to find him, and in addition to that, the truck had that nice new sticker on the side.

From the front of the house, I could hear the buzzing of voices, and I wondered momentarily how Derek was doing spinning the discovery of the bones on camera. Down at the bottom of the yard, Daphne the K-9 trooper and her canine partner had finished their olfactory search of the back of the property and were changing direction to follow the loosely drawn line in the gra.s.s that marked the boundary between Venetia Rudolph's yard and our own. There wasn't a fence or anything there, just a slight difference in the heights of the gra.s.s on either side of the imaginary line, showing where two different people at two different times had mowed the lawns.

I watched the German shepherd as it kept its nose to the ground, inching forward. It was a beautiful animal, its thick, brindled coat sleek and s.h.i.+ny, but as someone who had never owned a dog, and who was just getting used to being waitstaff to cats, I found it more than a little intimidating. Daphne didn't: She stayed a couple of steps behind, moving at a snail's pace, occasionally saying a few words to it. The dog lifted its head to sniff the air, the way it had been doing every few feet, and I could see, clear across the yard, the change that came over it. The fur on the back of its neck rose, and its posture became alert, watchful. It barked once, a short, sharp sound that cut through the crisp autumn air like a knife through b.u.t.ter.

12.

Heart sinking-Gacy, here we come!-I kept watching. I expected the dog to sit down, like an X marking the spot, or maybe start clawing the turf, to show where something was buried, but it didn't. Instead it strained forward, like a pointer after a fallen duck. Ears flat against its head, it pulled its handler forward-across the invisible property line, across Venetia's yard, directly to my neighbor's house.

I stood up and started forward, too, in time to see the small wave of humanity gathered at the front of the property turn as one. Tony and his cameraman forgot all about Derek as they focused in on the excitement. I hurried across the lawn, my aching body protesting every step, and slipped my hand into Derek's. "What's happening?"

"Looks like the dog's scented something on Venetia's property," Derek said. "Maybe this joker has been burying bodies all up and down Becklea."

A couple of the neighbors looked appalled at this idea, and who could blame them?

The camera tracked the K-9 team, but the rest of us managed to stay at a respectful distance as the dog made its way toward Venetia's house, stopping every so often to sniff the air and get its bearings. I expected at any moment to see it stop, sit, scratch the ground; mark somehow where the body was buried. It didn't. It just kept going, across the yard, up the stairs to the deck, over to the back door. Daphne peered in, knocked, then wrapped-of all things-the end of her navy tie around the doork.n.o.b to try the door. When it didn't open, she turned and raised her voice. "Chief Rasmussen? I think we may need a lock-smith here."

Wayne separated himself from the crowd and walked up onto the deck, camera tracking his every move. The two of them put their heads together in low-voiced conversation. Derek and I exchanged a look as whispers broke out all around us.

"Something buried in the bas.e.m.e.nt?" Derek muttered.

"Venetia as Gacy?" I murmured. His lips compressed, but he didn't answer. On the deck, Wayne was knocking on the door and calling Venetia's name, peering through the window between knocks. He put his hand to his mouth-had he seen something inside? He took a step back. The camera zoomed in as he lifted a booted foot and put it to the lock. The door crashed open with a splintering sound, and an impressed, "Ooooh!" spread through the crowd.

Wayne disappeared inside. After a few seconds, he came back and beckoned. "Derek?"

The dog settled on its haunches, quivering. Derek squeezed my hand rea.s.suringly.

"Looks like maybe you'd better go get Brandon," he said, before walking away. For once I didn't take the time to enjoy the view as he walked off; I swung on my heel and headed for the back door to our house instead, aches and pains momentarily forgotten.

By the time I got back outside, Brandon Thomas in tow, speculation was rampant among the gathering throng. As Brandon hotfooted it toward Venetia's house, I joined the neighbors. Linda had appeared now, in a flowered housecoat and the same fuzzy slippers as yesterday, and was cl.u.s.tered with Arthur Mattson, Irina, and Denise. Trevor was in a baby carriage today, sound asleep, while Stella was nosing the ground between the wheels.

". . . kept to herself," Arthur was saying when I arrived. "Never a.s.sociated with anyone, never invited anyone in."

Denise and Linda nodded; Irina looked less sure.

"She invited me in yesterday," I said, a.s.suming that "she" was Venetia Rudolph. They all turned to me.

"What was it like in there?" Denise asked avidly, while Arthur Mattson wondered if I'd noticed anything. He didn't qualify what that something might be, but I guessed he meant anything suspicious or out of the ordinary. I shook my head.

"It looked just like anyplace else. Probably just like any of your houses." If any of the others were rabid Gone with the Wind fans, at least. "I just saw the living room and dining room, although if the rest of the house looked like those two, it was just an average, normal house."

I'd seen no strange torture devices and smelled no scent of decomposing flesh. The only shrine I'd noticed had been to Scarlett and Rhett, and Venetia couldn't have struck me any less like a person who murders other people and buries them in her neighbor's crawls.p.a.ce. She did, however, strike me as too intelligent to stash a body on her own property. If the cadaver dog had scented another corpse, I didn't think Venetia would turn out to be its killer.

Arthur Mattson looked disappointed, but before he had a chance to speak, Tony the TV guy came over. "Whose house?" he asked, gesturing with a manicured thumb.

I hesitated, but the camera was still pointed the other way, and besides, all he'd have to do was read the name on the mailbox. "It belongs to a lady named Venetia Rudolph. Single, lives alone."

"Thanks." He turned away and pulled out his cell phone. He was probably calling someone at the television station to ask them to do some digging into Venetia's background, just in case he got the chance to ask questions later.

No one else seemed to have anything to say, so we just stood there in a small, huddled group and waited. Nothing too exciting seemed to be happening inside the house. There were no screams, no loud explosions, no aging woman bursting through the door screaming, "You'll never take me alive!" Brandon had long-since disappeared inside. Daphne the trooper led her canine companion past us toward their state police vehicle. The dog was just walking now, scenting neither ground nor air. "Great job, Hans," I heard Daphne say as they walked by. "Good boy."

Stella the s.h.i.+h tzu looked longingly at the regal Hans, but he didn't dignify her presence with as much as a flick of his tail. In the baby carriage, Trevor whimpered, made a quarter turn, and slept on.

After a few minutes, the back door opened again, and Derek came out. He stood for a second on the deck, looking out at us all, before he crossed the deck and started down the stairs. His steps were heavy, and my heart sank. What had they found inside? More bones? Body parts?

Excusing myself to the neighbors, I hurried forward and caught up with him at the foot of Venetia's stairs. "What is it? What did you find?"

He shook his head, lips tightly pressed together. "She's dead."

"Venetia? But . . ." It took a second for the news to sink in, and then I felt the color leach out of my face. I must have wobbled, because Derek's arm shot out and caught my elbow. "How?" I managed. "What happened?"

"Wayne and Brandon will figure that out," Derek said, keeping his voice low. "They just wanted me to make absolutely sure that she was beyond any lifesaving measures, and they did the rest. I couldn't even p.r.o.nounce, since I'm not actually an MD anymore. They'll have to get dad to do that, or the ME from Portland." He looked upset.

"But you could tell what happened?"

He nodded, lowering his voice. "She was. .h.i.t over the head with something. Last night."

"Hit? With what? Why?"

He shrugged. "Flower arrangement in a vase. It was on the floor next to her. In a couple of pieces."

I did my best to think straight. "The one from the dining room table? With the magnolias and leaves? I saw it yesterday, when she invited me in."