Take the Monkeys and Run (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #1) (6 page)

Peggy wandered around to the other side of the house. A moment later she came back with a prize.

“Look at this!” She held up a brand new broom. Brand new except it had obviously been used on the dirt, because the bristles were covered in it. I looked closer at the ground at my feet. Sure enough, it had been swept over—long bristle marks were etched in the dirt.

“Someone has been covering up their tracks!” I cried. The hair on my neck stood on end. We weren’t just barking up an empty tree—we were really onto something. Someone REALLY had been at this house and didn’t want people to know.

In our excitement, we all started poking around the house and looking into windows. I tried the doorknob, to no avail. Then I went around to the low basement window where I had seen the light, realizing that might be our best bet. Roz and Peggy followed. I got down on my knees for a better look. The mud-covered aluminum window appeared to be the type that slid back and forth to open and close. If there had been a screen, it was gone now. I pulled at the window with my hand, and much to my surprise, it opened like a breeze. I sat on my bottom, dumbfounded, and stared up at Roz and Peggy.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

“Geez, I don’t know,” said Peggy.

“If we go in, it would be breaking and entering, right?” asked Roz.

“Probably,” I said.

We were silent for a good minute. A strong, autumn breeze blew through and chilled us all a bit, although I’m not sure the chill was from the cool air as much as the moderate to major amount of fear racing through our veins. Poor Roz and Peggy had the same look on their faces as a squirrel I’d seen the day before, frozen in the road and staring into the headlights of an oncoming SUV.

“Well,” proposed Peggy, “maybe it’s only breaking and entering if we get caught.”

“Oh, right. And what if we do get caught, Peggy?” sniped Roz. “Let’s face it, this is fun and all, but going in—that’s another thing altogether.”

“Okay,” I said, “Roz is basically right. On the other hand, while we’re here, and while the window is open, why don’t I just stick my head in—just my head? I’ll do it fast—no one will know. Then bing-bang-boom, we're out of here.” I was feeling very gutsy and very sleuthy.

“Admit it, Roz,” teased Peggy, “you’re as curious as we are.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” she snapped. “I’m curious. I’m very curious. I’m seriously curious. Just stick your head in a little.” She motioned toward the window. “But make it quick. Our luck is going to run out soon and someone is going to see us.”

I got back on my knees and asked them to hold my legs, just in case. I didn’t want to fall in—then I’d have problems. Probably couldn’t skirt the whole breaking and entering issue on a technicality if that happened. I put my hands on the ground and moved my head in through the narrow opening. It was still dark and my eyes took a moment to adjust.

“Do you see anything?” asked Peggy.

“Not yet.”

I blinked a couple of times. It was horribly musty and dust swam right up my nose. I brought my hand in to rub my nose in an attempt to stifle a sneeze. Then I noticed a smell far worse than musty. It was strong and had a sweet sort of aroma, but not a good sweet. The scent was familiar, but I couldn’t place it immediately. My eyes were just beginning to adjust to the dark when it hit me—the smell. It was just like the time I’d found the dead chipmunk in my pantry. . . I started feeling not so good about the whole enterprise when I caught sight of something on the floor. I blinked once more to focus clearly. Suddenly, the situation went from “Hmm-this-is-interesting” to “Holy-Mother-of-God-what-do-I-do-now?” Because, as it turned out, I was looking straight down into the rotting eye sockets of a very dead face. Problem was, there was no body. Just a head. The head was dead.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Five

MY EYES OPENED AND I found that my head was in Peggy’s lap. I couldn’t remember why I was on the ground. I remembered it was my birthday and thought this was a strange way to celebrate . . . then it all came back. The dark room, the smell, the head. I struggled to sit up.

“What happened? Where’s Roz?” I asked, my mouth barely able to form the words.

“You fainted. Well, you screamed first. Then you fainted. My cell phone died so Roz went to call 911. I was so scared! We could barely hold you—you went limp. Limp as a rag doll. A heavy rag doll. It was awful! Awful!” Peggy’s arms were flying in all directions as she rambled on about the events after my blackout. She was bouncing around so violently, my head nearly flew out of her lap. “I was sure we were going to drop you,” she continued. “You were so heavy. Dead weight. It was awful. Man, how much do you weigh?”

“I got it—I need to lose a few pounds. Geez.” I rubbed my head. “Did you see it?”

“It? Oh, God. There’s an IT? We were afraid to look. I’m a wuss. The smell says enough. Please tell me it’s a dead animal.”

Roz was running toward us, carrying a bottle of water and something else I couldn’t make out. Just as she reached us, I heard sirens in the distance, the sound growing louder.

“Are you okay? Is she okay?” She was looking back and forth between us.

“I’m fine,” I answered. “My head is starting to pound, though.”

“Oh, here,” she said handing over the items she had brought. “A bottle of water and Tylenol. Please tell me it’s a dead animal.”

“It’s not a dead animal,” I said.

“Is it dead?” asked Peggy.

“Oh, it’s dead. What’s left of it.”

Peggy and Roz clamped their hands over their mouths at the same time. Just about then, two uniformed bodies rounded the corner. I had finally managed to pull myself up to a sitting position—when I looked up, I saw that one of the two people was my Brad Pitt-handsome policeman friend. I tried to remember his real name from the card he had given me. No such luck. He’d just have to be Officer Brad. He probably wished he’d clocked out after his first call to our neighborhood. This time around, Officer Brad was accompanied by a squat female officer who appeared stiff and über-serious. Neither of them said a word as they stared down at us, so I felt compelled to start the conversation.

“So, you again,” I said, being a little too flip for the occasion. Not necessarily being accustomed to finding dead heads in neighborhood basements, I wasn’t exactly sure how this was going to go down. Would I be wearing gray by the end of the day, curled up on a cot, singing the jailhouse blues?

“I was just about to say the same thing,” he replied, definitely not smiling. He wasn’t happy. I figured that he was about to get a lot less happy, too.

“I’m afraid there’s a dead head in this basement here. I found it by accident.”

Officer Brad didn’t blink a blink. There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence. Even the lady cop was starting to sweat. Eventually, I detected a twitch on his lip that I couldn’t quite read. Hard to tell if it was an angry twitch or a sympathetic twitch. I was praying for sympathetic.

“By a ‘dead head,’ ma’am,” he finally said, “do you mean a person, such as a rock band groupie?”

“No, I mean a head. The head of a dead human. The rest of him isn’t there. Well, at least not on the floor.” Unfortunately I pictured the decaying head again while talking and started to feel nauseous. “Excuse me, I think I’m going to throw up.” And then I did. I sprayed chunks all over Officer Brad’s shiny black shoes.

As more cars arrived and Officer Brad cleaned off his shoes, the burly lady cop quickly took over, moving the three of us away from the house to the street out front. White Willow Circle was starting to glow with the throbbing of red flashing lights. The shrill of sirens filled the air.

A paramedic named Chaz arrived and seemed disappointed that I didn’t have a telephone pole through my guts like a grisly scene in an episode of ER. I figured it was his first day. He did give me a warm blanket and oxygen, though, since I was shivering in massive spasms. While he took my blood pressure, Roz told me that Peter had scooped up my girls and taken them to their house. He would watch them until things settled down. Thank God for Peter.

I found myself wishing Howard were there holding me, keeping me warm. And then, just as if he had read my mind, I saw his car turn onto White Willow. He couldn’t get past the police cars so he parked at the corner and ran up the street. His dark eyes were darker than usual, contrasting his ashen white face. He looked terrible and that made me happy. He was worried. Now if he’d just remember it was my birthday, then he’d be perfect. When he finally reached me, he took me in for a long, strong hug. He smelled so good. I didn’t want to let go. Suddenly, with him holding me like that, comforting me, the reality of my discovery became overwhelming and I started shivering uncontrollably again.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, fighting back the urge to cry. It stuck like a lump in my throat and prevented me from speaking, but I was sticking to my oath—I wasn’t going to be a wimpy woman. Sigourney’s Lieutenant Ripley didn’t cry when she’d found that dead guy in the space ship. Neither would I. Tears fought to find open air, but I shut down those ducts tight.

“Where are the girls?” he asked me.

Peggy chimed in, realizing, I think, that I might be having trouble talking. “They’re at Roz and Peter’s,” she answered. It occurred to me as we stood there that his arrival didn’t appear to be casual in nature. He’d driven up fast, like he’d known ahead of time that there was a problem.

“Did Roz call you?” I was finally able to ask. He shook his head “no,” while observing the growing activity at House of Many Bones. It was hard to tell, but it seemed that he was avoiding the question.

“Who? Peter?” I queried further.

“So, are you ready to tell me what happened here?” he asked, changing the subject. His avoidance of the question wasn’t lost on me, but I was too freaked to force the issue. I gave him the whole story—the truck, the screaming man, the call from Maria Nichols, and our idea to conduct our own investigation of sorts, figuring there was really no harm, and maybe we’d be helping out if we discovered some intruder, yada, yada, yada. I thought I was stretching it a bit, saying we were trying to “help,” but I guess, all things told, we probably had helped. I mean, we’d found a dead body. Or, rather, we’d found part of a dead body.

I was very proud of Howard. He listened to my whole story without interrupting me or rolling his eyes once. I was fearful of the eye roll. He’s pretty good at that. Howard is generally a very calm, collected guy who never loses his temper. He doesn’t yell and he doesn’t throw things, but he knows how to give a mean eye roll. I thought that was a woman-thing, but he’s darned good at it. In fact, not only did he keep his eyes steadily focused on me during my story, but he actually seemed interested and asked me several pertinent questions.

His interest caused me to think. Maybe what our marriage lacked was intrigue. Mystery. Something fun to talk about. Maybe, I thought, he really was seeing another woman. Possibly someone more intriguing than me. Someone sexy, sultry and beguiling like Lauren Bacall in
To Have and Have Not
. Someone enigmatic and maybe even dangerous. Damn! My mind was dreaming up crazy ideas. Shut it out, Barb. Shut it out. Luckily, I was rescued. Officer Brad, whose real name I was doomed to forget, walked over, ready to take statements from Roz, Peggy and myself. He talked to me first.

“So, Ma’am. . .” he began. I had to interrupt.

“Grant an old lady a wish, and call me Barb, remember?” I pleaded, hoping that maybe a little playfulness would soften the encounter a bit.

“Okay, Barb,” he said, finally cracking a smile. “Tell me how you were able to see inside the house.”

“The truth?” I asked, crinkling my nose.

“That’s always best in these situations,” he answered. “And by the way, I don’t think you’re an old lady. I’m forty-four myself. Do I look old to you?”

Geez. Was he flirting with me?

“Oh, no! You don’t look a day over Brad Pitt—I mean thirty-four!” I stumbled over my words. I was pretty sure I was flirting back. He smiled, looked at his shoes a moment, and I knew I’d better get on to the matter at hand.

“Well, about the house . . .” I began, “it’s kind of like this—I don’t know if you know this or not, but this house has been vacant for something like thirty years or so.”

“Twenty-nine,” he corrected me instantly. Hmmm, he did know. I wondered what else he knew?

“Right” I said, surprised. “A long time. And I told you earlier about the strange truck last night. Well, I saw a light in a window—that one right there. Then another woman we know saw some man snooping around the backyard today when that whole monkey hoopla was going on, and well, we were, well, you know, concerned, because it’s our neighborhood, and there’s this grumpy lawn mower guy, who more or less threatened me five years ago.” I was rambling purposely and hoping that maybe he had missed the fact that I hadn’t really answered his question about how I’d managed to come upon the rotting head in a house that I didn’t have legal access to. Turns out, Officer Brad wasn’t only good looking—he was smart too. He didn’t miss a thing.