Fairmont Finds a Body Read online

  But then I came to an important conclusion: a dead man in my yard was a Crisis.

  A Crisis was to be handled, not experienced. Every mother knew this. I might not do dead bodies, but I had handled my fair share of crises.

  I clapped my hands firmly together and called Fairmont. As agitated as he was, he immediately came back. He looked quite proud of himself. I petted him—he had come right back when I’d called—but I couldn’t quite manage a “good boy,” given the circumstances.

  Helen waited while I attached the leash to Fairmont’s collar, then said, “You should call the police. Since you’re the homeowner, it’s best you’re the one calling.”

  Helen Granger also seemed to be the crisis-handling sort. She and I might have to get to know one another a little better, preferably when there wasn’t a…

  A huff of air escaped my chest.

  Plain speaking was best in these situations, even if only in my head, so I tried to imagine the words as just words and not some horrendous event happening to me right now.

  Body, corpse, dead man. I repeated the list, but I wasn’t so sure that was helping.

  In any event, when there wasn’t one of those just a few feet away, then I’d very much like to get to know Helen. I’d make sure to make an effort to extend our acquaintanceship once we’d both gotten through this day.

  “The police.” I nodded in agreement. Definitely someone should call them, and I was the logical choice. “Perhaps you could give Fairmont a potty break down the road while I call it in?”

  It seemed a reasonable request, since Helen had remained firmly in control of herself from the first inkling of trouble, and Fairmont hadn’t peed since he’d charged out of the car. And if I was misreading Helen’s comfort level, it would get her away from the…well, from everything.

  She took his leash, but her attention flickered between him and the dead man.

  “Maybe you should, you know, check first before you make the call.” Her statement was accompanied by a vague gesture in the direction of the body.

  “Ah, yes, maybe…” Good grief. What if the man wasn’t dead but in some deep coma and desperately in need of medical attention? “Yes! Absolutely. But could you…?”

  Helen nodded and clutched Fairmont’s leash close to her chest. “I’ll stay until you’re done.”

  I didn’t make it all the way, just close enough to see his face. Definitely a man and most certainly dead. The wide, staring eyes made it gruesomely clear.

  I retraced my steps back to the gate, opened it with careful deliberation, and closed it with equal care. I nodded to Helen and told her she could go. No need for specifics. One person carrying that terrible, wide-eyed, slack-jawed image around was more than enough.

  Once the duo were on their way and it was clear Helen had a firm handle on Fairmont, I retrieved my cell from my purse and called 911.

  After describing the situation and being told to stay on the line, I explained that I did not feel threatened, that both my dog and I had just come in from a multi-hour car trip, and that we both needed to powder our noses. I firmly excused myself from the phone, to the chagrin of the operator, and then flagged down Helen.

  “He watered a few lawns and seems to be done,” Helen said as she offered me his leash.

  “Actually…” I explained my desire to hit a bathroom and then added, “I refuse to greet the police on my doorstep hopping from one foot to the other.”

  “It’ll be the sheriff, but you’re right about the other part. They do like to take their sweet time interviewing witnesses.”

  Her comment made me wonder how much experience she had with the sheriff’s office. Or maybe the town was just that small?

  Was White Sage the kind of place where everyone knew everything about anything noteworthy that happened? I’d read about that sort of town in books, seen them on TV, but I’d certainly never lived in such a place. Austin might like to think of itself as a town, but it had been a city for longer than I could remember.

  Helen pointed to a neighbor’s place a few houses away, and the moment to ask about White Sage’s gossip mill and her previous experience with the police was lost.

  “Betsy Severs,” she said. “Three small kids, and I see her car. She’s sure to be home and probably too busy to ask you a bunch of questions.”

  “Bless you, Helen.” I handed her my keys so she could settle Fairmont in my SUV, well away from any flashing lights or brusque strangers. Fairmont had already been through enough today.

  She winked at me. Calm in a crisis and kept her sense of humor when a body was right around the corner. My earlier hunch looked to be spot-on. I might like Helen Granger very much indeed—even if she did turn out to have a history with local law enforcement.

  5

  Hunting, working. I’d forgotten the thrill of it.

  There was joy in work.

  Different from the contentment I’d found with Zella. In her home, I’d found a soft bed permeated with the smell of my mistress, sun-warmed blankets left just for me in front of a picture window, and leisurely walks with time to smell all of the roses and the grass and the birds and the small creatures that burrowed in the earth.

  I would give up work for the love of my mistress.

  But…maybe I didn’t have to.

  6

  After my quick jog to the Severs’ place, I arrived slightly out of breath.

  Not that Betsy Severs noticed. She answered the door and, without a word to me or even an apologetic glance, yelled over her shoulder, “Stop that right now, Josh, or no tablet tonight.”

  A crash was followed by a hollered “Sorry!” and then an ominous silence.

  Eyes squinted with suspicion and mouth moving as she silently counted to five, Betsy made me thankful my days as the mother to young children were over.

  She turned to me and began to speak as if we’d been having a conversation that had been interrupted. “He plays games on his tablet before bed, so—” She took a step back, quickly surveyed my appearance, and then stretched out her hand in greeting. “You must be my new neighbor.”

  I smiled, friendly but with a tinge of embarrassment, as I accepted her hand. “Zella Marek. You’re Betsy Severs?”

  She nodded.

  “I hate to impose when we haven’t even been properly introduced, but I’m in a bind. I…” I hadn’t considered a story appropriate for young ears.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Betsy said, “You’ve got about two more minutes of child-free opportunity here. So make it quick.”

  Her brusque words were kindly meant, I was sure, because she smiled encouragingly.

  “I’ve just arrived after a long car trip and need to use the restroom.” Gulping, I took the plunge. “There’s a B-O-D-Y in my yard, and I don’t want to go inside until the police have cleared me to.”

  Her first response was to grin, probably at my lame attempt to disguise the situation. Josh sounded old enough to spell, so fair enough. But that faded quickly, replaced by a perfect O of surprise.

  A towheaded toddler appeared just in time to curtail any probing questions, and I hadn’t a single doubt Betsy had several. She scooped the toddler up and rested him against her hip. “Right. Say hi, Justin.”

  The little boy turned wide eyes my way. “I don’t like you.”

  Betsy sighed. “Justin doesn’t like anyone right now. Don’t take it personally.”

  I didn’t, because contrary to his words, he was smiling at me. Granted, it was a naughty, mischievous smile, but it didn’t convey dislike. That little boy looked like trouble. The kind that involved worms on pillows and dirty socks in the oven. I’d had one just like him. I grinned back.

  “The bathroom is this way. Don’t mind the laundry.” She nudged an odiferous pile of clothing with her toe as we walked through the entryway. “Our cleaning lady cancelled at the last minute yesterday. She normally comes in the late afternoon, and I catch up on all the overflow laundry for the week. That’s what you’ve caught me
at this morning, since I had to clean yesterday.”

  That was a new take on the “it’s the cleaning lady’s day off” excuse. I’d certainly heard it frequently enough. In my old neighborhood, it had been offered when there were a few cups in the sink. More of a token response to any judgment that might be percolating that one’s house was less than perfectly prepared for company.

  In Betsy’s case, I suspected a cleaning lady kept insanity at bay. Three young boys, a husband (there was evidence of a grown male in the household), and all of the mischief and dirt that accompanied such a crew would make a little help on the domestic front appreciated. Just the thought of the bathrooms made me cringe.

  My face must have betrayed me, because Betsy winked as she pointed. “The boys aren’t allowed in the guest bath.”

  I was in and out in less than five minutes, and yet I felt like I’d had a much deeper peek into Betsy Severs’ life than five minutes might normally allow. I’d caught her unprepared for company. I was sure that was part of it, but it likely also had something to do with the unique circumstances of our meeting. Bodies bring neighbors closer together…not a neighborhood slogan I saw catching on.

  As I hustled out the door, she waved and said, “Say hello to the sheriff.”

  If I hadn’t been in such a rush, I might have wondered at the amused look she gave me.

  When I returned to my house, I joined Helen in the driveway directly behind my SUV. She hung up her phone as I stopped next to her. “You were spot-on about Betsy.”

  She pocketed her phone. “Three small boys underfoot and her working part-time from home, it’s amazing she can put together full sentences. She’s a writer.”

  I set aside thoughts of stinky boys and their piles of dirty clothes and pondered that for a moment, and just—wow. How could anyone get any work done in the chaos of that house?

  But then I remembered that I had my chaos to sort. Those brief moments of forgetfulness had given me a reprieve from the emotional toll finding the stranger had taken, and I was thankful for that. I vowed to get Betsy a night out, even it meant babysitting three rowdy boys.

  “I figured we should stay as close to the car and as far away from your house as possible.” Helen squinted and leaned close. “In case it’s a murder. We don’t want to contaminate any evidence.”

  Murder?

  Maybe I’d been thinking it in the back of my mind. I had kept Fairmont and myself clear of the scene. But I hadn’t allowed the amorphous cloud of doubts that had floated in my head to coalesce into that particular and very nasty word.

  And then Helen had gone and thrown it out into the world.

  Murder.

  That was when the disbelief and panic hit.

  What had I done?

  7

  Just my luck, a sheriff’s marked car pulled up just as I was doubting my move, my life choices, my existence as a single woman in a tiny town with an apparent dead-body problem…everything.

  The deputy was nice enough. I kept reminding myself this as he asked me questions. Really, he was. But he was so young. And there was a dead man. On my property. My brand-new-to-me property that was the beginning of my newly unencumbered life.

  “Mrs. Marek?” The look on the deputy’s face clued me in that it wasn’t the first time he’d said my name.

  I gave him a weak smile so he’d know he’d caught my attention.

  “You don’t have any furniture, Mrs. Marek?” He looked truly baffled by the concept. “It’s not coming later today?” Deputy Zapata asked. (I glanced at his name badge to jog my memory.)

  He looked down the road hopefully, as if mentioning my nonexistent furniture would make it appear in an equally nonexistent moving truck.

  I could have used a friendly face about now. Yelling at sheriff’s deputies was frowned upon, I was sure. Not that I’d ever done it, but common sense said it was a bad idea.

  But I had no friendly face. No friends at all in White Sage. And Helen, the closest person to a potential future friend that I had, had returned home after a brief interview. I wish I knew how she’d managed to keep her chat with the deputy so short, because the repetition involved with my own interview was giving me a headache.

  “I’ve told you twice already. Asking a third time doesn’t change the answer.” I refused to be embarrassed. There was nothing shameful in divesting oneself of serviceable furniture if it carried the weight of a failed relationship with it. I’d wanted to start fresh, and I was—minus the dead body in my yard. I repeated what I’d already told the young man: “I’m not expecting movers. This is all I have.”

  I didn’t even raise my voice.

  A glance in the direction of the car assured me Fairmont was still resting comfortably, and that was when I discovered that another officer had quietly joined Deputy Zapata and me.

  He stood a few feet away but well within hearing distance and was making some notes in a small pad. He wasn’t dressed in a sheriff’s uniform, but in worn jeans, a loose button-down shirt, and hiking boots.

  Officer Zapata cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am, about your things—”

  “Dave, are you trying to make Ms. Marek uncomfortable?” When the younger man’s ear tips turned red, the new man said, “All right, then. Enough with the missing furniture. It’s not missing.”

  I frowned at the man. As annoyed as I was, I didn’t think there was any need to embarrass the young deputy. I had refrained from exhibiting annoyance, and I was the target of the deputy’s mind-boggling confusion.

  Dave, Officer Zapata, nodded and said, “Sorry, sir. I remember from last time.”

  The older man clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Now go do something else.”

  Ah. It looked like Dave Zapata might have ongoing customer-relations issues—or whatever the police version of that might be. Interesting, since I’d have thought making people uncomfortable was rather the point during interrogations.

  Which raised the question: was I a suspect being interrogated or a witness being interviewed? Clearly Helen had been categorized as a witness. Contrary to her earlier comment about drawn-out interviews, her chat with Sage County’s finest had lasted all of five minutes.

  I supposed the person finding the body usually was a suspect. And while Helen and I had technically found the body together, I was also the homeowner. That sounded like a suspect double whammy. Fiddlesticks.

  “Ms. Marek? I’m Sheriff McCord.” He waited for me to offer my hand. When I did, he gave me a genuine smile. His hand engulfed my own.

  “Zella Marek.” I smiled politely. Or I tried to. I’d been here half an hour answering the same questions over and over.

  As he released my hand, I realized that Sheriff McCord had mastered the fine art of neither crushing a woman’s hand, nor treating it like delicate glass. A difficult skill for many large men.

  With regret in his eyes, he said, “I’m sorry that this was your welcome to White Sage.”

  “I spent some time here with my family years ago, so I’m not entirely new to the area. But I appreciate the sentiment.”

  He considered my comment, likely trying to root out my local family ties from his memory. Good luck with that, mister. My father’s sister had moved to the area after she’d married, so she’d gone by a different name, and she hadn’t exactly been sociable.

  Nodding in the direction of my car, he said, “Can I have a look at your pointer?”

  My heart skittered. “You don’t think—” I closed my eyes, tamping down the irrational flash of fear. Of course he didn’t think Fairmont had done anything to the man. Where was my head? When I opened my eyes, I found the sheriff patiently waiting for me to finish my thought. “You want to examine him because he touched the body.”

  The sheriff nodded. “And say hello. He’s been cooped up in there a while now.”

  With so many people present and the care that was being taken, I’d suspected the man in my yard hadn’t keeled over from a heart attack. But I’d been trying to
avoid the M-word, since Helen’s mere mentioning of it had made my head spin.

  Now that the sheriff wanted to examine Fairmont for evidence, the thought solidified: murder. In my own backyard, before it even really felt like my backyard.

  “Nothing invasive,” he said. “We just want to have a look to make sure he didn’t pick up anything on his coat or feet.”

  “I understand.” Now that the M-word had firmly come to stay, I did understand. I also understood why Deputy Zapata had been so flustered.

  When we approached the passenger side of the car, Fairmont stood up and stretched. He must have been keeping half on eye on us. One look at Sheriff McCord and his stubby tail started to vibrate with excitement.

  “That’s new. He usually only does that for me.” I rolled my eyes. “Or food.”

  “Dogs like me.” The sheriff smiled, and that was when I noticed what a handsome man he was.

  Not to say I hadn’t noticed he was attractive at first glance. I’d catalogued his build (athletic), his clothing (casual and well-worn but high quality), his short, dark brown hair (starting to curl at the ends and due for a trim), his two-day-old stubble, and his lack of a wedding ring.

  I was not an unobservant woman. Of course I noticed those things.

  But seeing my dog wiggle in joy and McCord’s genuine, relaxed smile in response to Fairmont’s excitement brought all of those observations into sharp focus: I was attracted to Sage County’s handsome sheriff.

  Also, I seemed to be a suspect in a possible homicide being investigated by that same sheriff.

  That wasn’t awkward, not at all.

  8

  Sheriff McCord took Fairmont’s leash from me and waved a technician over. The tech knelt next to Fairmont and started an examination of his coat, teeth, nails, and pads.

  It seemed pretty clear that whatever trace evidence my overenthusiastic dog might have picked up was likely long gone by now, but I guess they had to be careful—if it was murder.