she going to do—wait for him in her panties?
I slithered over to a window and hugged the wall, peering in. I saw Lori walk past. I plastered myself against the side of the house, facing my yard. Patti’s house was quiet, not a bit of motion in the upstairs window, not a single gleam from her telescope lens. Good. The last thing I needed was Patti butting in. Or videotaping me.
Before I could decide what to do next, I heard Lori scream from inside the house, even over all the noise from the parade down the block. The bands and vehicles and clapping and shouting didn’t mask it. Every hair on my body went on high alert.
Seconds later, Lori blew past me, slamming out of the house and hurrying down the street with one hand clutching her chest and the other one over her mouth like she had a terrible case of acid reflux.
She hadn’t seen me.
Now what?
What could she possibly have discovered to cause that kind of reaction?
And more important, did I have the courage to go inside and find out?
I forced myself through the door Lori had left unlocked and wide open.
The kitchen didn’t hold any secrets except for evidence of Ford’s occupancy—empty beer cans and beef jerky wrappers, a camping table and chair. Same with the bedroom—a sleeping bag and the stink of B.O. and unwashed clothes.
But when I got to the front of the house, I discovered what had Lori running scared.
Ford’s body was stuffed into the fireplace like an enormous log.
Twelve
This wasn’t my first dead body. I’ve been to my share of funerals just like everybody else. And I’ve even seen death right after it happened, before the funeral home’s mortician had a chance to put things back in place. The older I get, the more I’m confronted with death and dying. But it never gets easier.
This wasn’t even the first time I’d seen
this
particular dead body, since I was pretty sure that I’d just found my missing corpse from the cemetery.
But this
was
the first time I’d been around a body that was obviously, unquestionably the victim of foul play. People don’t crawl into fireplaces to die from natural causes. Even if it wasn’t for that, Ford’s contorted face, which was turned my way—wouldn’t you know it—wasn’t pretty. Not that it had been good-looking to begin with, but now it was positively gruesome.
I was seriously flipped out, but refused to handle the situation by running away like Lori had. I moved back afew steps, stopping at the doorway where I concentrated on avoiding looking directly at what was left of Ford while considering my next move. I’d have to alert the authorities. That is, if Lori hadn’t done so already. The festival applecart—the one my mother demanded that I watch—was seriously tipped over, contents rolling all over the place and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
In the distance, I heard the marching band strike up “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” which was going to become my mother’s theme song as soon as she found out. There really wouldn’t be a mountain high enough to keep her from getting to me.
The parade meant Moraine’s cops would be providing security close by. A good thing, considering the circumstances. Better yet, Johnny Jay would be decked out in his finest, pompously driving the chief’s special vehicle in the parade. That meant I might be able to circumvent him, at least initially.
First I tried calling Hunter. We’d planned to meet at Stu’s Bar and Grill in a little while, but that wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t answer.
Next I tried to punch in the emergency number. Nine. One. One. Three little numbers. Why was it so hard? Partly because my hands were shaking, but mainly because I suddenly realized that the killer might still be close by. He could be in a closet or around a corner, getting impatient to escape, me standing between him and freedom.
Probably not, I said to myself edging out the door. Ford didn’t look like he’d gone to home
I slithered over to a window and hugged the wall, peering in. I saw Lori walk past. I plastered myself against the side of the house, facing my yard. Patti’s house was quiet, not a bit of motion in the upstairs window, not a single gleam from her telescope lens. Good. The last thing I needed was Patti butting in. Or videotaping me.
Before I could decide what to do next, I heard Lori scream from inside the house, even over all the noise from the parade down the block. The bands and vehicles and clapping and shouting didn’t mask it. Every hair on my body went on high alert.
Seconds later, Lori blew past me, slamming out of the house and hurrying down the street with one hand clutching her chest and the other one over her mouth like she had a terrible case of acid reflux.
She hadn’t seen me.
Now what?
What could she possibly have discovered to cause that kind of reaction?
And more important, did I have the courage to go inside and find out?
I forced myself through the door Lori had left unlocked and wide open.
The kitchen didn’t hold any secrets except for evidence of Ford’s occupancy—empty beer cans and beef jerky wrappers, a camping table and chair. Same with the bedroom—a sleeping bag and the stink of B.O. and unwashed clothes.
But when I got to the front of the house, I discovered what had Lori running scared.
Ford’s body was stuffed into the fireplace like an enormous log.
Twelve
This wasn’t my first dead body. I’ve been to my share of funerals just like everybody else. And I’ve even seen death right after it happened, before the funeral home’s mortician had a chance to put things back in place. The older I get, the more I’m confronted with death and dying. But it never gets easier.
This wasn’t even the first time I’d seen
this
particular dead body, since I was pretty sure that I’d just found my missing corpse from the cemetery.
But this
was
the first time I’d been around a body that was obviously, unquestionably the victim of foul play. People don’t crawl into fireplaces to die from natural causes. Even if it wasn’t for that, Ford’s contorted face, which was turned my way—wouldn’t you know it—wasn’t pretty. Not that it had been good-looking to begin with, but now it was positively gruesome.
I was seriously flipped out, but refused to handle the situation by running away like Lori had. I moved back afew steps, stopping at the doorway where I concentrated on avoiding looking directly at what was left of Ford while considering my next move. I’d have to alert the authorities. That is, if Lori hadn’t done so already. The festival applecart—the one my mother demanded that I watch—was seriously tipped over, contents rolling all over the place and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
In the distance, I heard the marching band strike up “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” which was going to become my mother’s theme song as soon as she found out. There really wouldn’t be a mountain high enough to keep her from getting to me.
The parade meant Moraine’s cops would be providing security close by. A good thing, considering the circumstances. Better yet, Johnny Jay would be decked out in his finest, pompously driving the chief’s special vehicle in the parade. That meant I might be able to circumvent him, at least initially.
First I tried calling Hunter. We’d planned to meet at Stu’s Bar and Grill in a little while, but that wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t answer.
Next I tried to punch in the emergency number. Nine. One. One. Three little numbers. Why was it so hard? Partly because my hands were shaking, but mainly because I suddenly realized that the killer might still be close by. He could be in a closet or around a corner, getting impatient to escape, me standing between him and freedom.
Probably not, I said to myself edging out the door. Ford didn’t look like he’d gone to home
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