The Dead of Summer (15 page)

He followed me into the dank cellar and I immediately smelled the body.

That’s weird. I didn’t smell it when I came into the basement a few minutes ago. Is it because now I’m aware there is a corpse a few feet away and I’m hypersensitive to the smell?

“What’s that mildew-y smell?” Carson asked as Colt tilted his own nose in the air and took a deep sniff.

“That’s what I have to show you,” I whispered as I pulled the door closed and enveloped us in total darkness. “Does your phone have a flashlight app?”

“I don’t have a phone,” Carson replied. “But I have a flashlight,” he said as he dug it out of his pocket. “It’s right…Colt what are you doing?”

I have no idea how Carson could have possibly seen his black dog in the pitch black cellar, but somehow, he knew that Colt was wandering on.

With a click, he illuminated the spot directly in front of us with his flashlight. The dog was sniffing and pawing at the corpse.

“What the hell is that?” Carson asked, his voice going up an octave.

“Shhh!” I hissed as I pointed at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” Carson whispered as he shined his flashlight in the general direction of the tarp. Colt whimpered as he nudged the tarp, revealing a hand. “Is that what I think it is?” Carson asked as we took a tentative step closer.

I nodded. “I think so.”

“Damn it, Colt, get away from there,” Carson chastised in a hushed voice. Then he turned to me, his face lit up by the dim light of his flashlight. “Who is it?”

“I think maybe it’s a bum or something. . .I accidentally left the storm doors open last week. Maybe he wandered in here and died,” I said hopefully.

Carson stared at me. “That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “Mama doesn’t let anyone in the house voluntarily. I don’t know who else it could be.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out, right?”

We proceeded to step even closer, peering at the lump under the tarp. My heart was hammering unnaturally in my chest. As if he could read my mind, Carson grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly. My hand was shaky and sweaty, but Carson didn’t seem to notice. His was just as bad. This was crazy. Both of us were scared out of our minds.

Get a grip on yourself! It’s just a dead body. It can’t hurt you!

Carson took charge then and crouched down by the tarp. I could now see that it was dark green. “You ready?” he asked, looking up at me.

I nodded my head and he slowly peeled back the crinkly material. I stifled a gasp as a man’s arm was revealed (what the heck did I
think
the hand was attached to?) and then a mid-section and then a leg and another leg and finally, Carson stood and pulled the whole tarp off, revealing a very ashen faced man staring up at the ceiling with his dead eyes. He was dressed in a light colored button down shirt and khaki pants. He wore a wedding ring on his large hands and an enormous gash on his forehead.

Even though I already knew there was a body under this tarp, it didn’t stop my gut reaction of wanting to scream. I balled up my fist and shoved it in my mouth, biting my knuckles as I grabbed onto Carson so that I didn’t collapse on the floor. Yeah, I know it sounds like a typical girlie reaction, but it isn’t every day you discover a dead body in your cellar. Trust me on this one. No matter how prepared you think you are, the shock is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Carson let out a long, low whistle as he leaned closer and then proceeded to gag. “Wow, he’s pretty ripe,” he whispered to me.

I nodded my head as I pulled my T-shirt up around my nose. The cellar was only about fifty-something degrees, which I’m sure would slow decomp considerably. But I was no Kay Scarpetta, even though I had read every Patricia Cornwell book from cover to cover.

“It doesn’t look like a bum,” Carson said. “Definitely doesn’t look like any of the bums I’ve seen wandering around.”

“Okay. . .but then, who could it be? And how did they get here without me or Mama noticing?”

Then, I remembered Mama acting weird when she came up from the basement earlier in the day.
Was this body down here then? Did Mama see it? Did Mama know? Why wouldn’t she call the police if she saw a dead guy in her basement?

Suddenly, a loud humming noise came from the corner of the basement. Colt whimpered and I squeezed Carson’s hand as we both nearly jumped out of our skin.

“What the hell was that?” Carson asked, shining his flashlight toward the noise. The deep freezer stood in the corner.

“It’s just the freezer kicking on,” I sighed with relief.

It was then that I remembered Mama claimed the freezer had been broken.
Was it really broken, or was she trying to keep me out of the basement?
Come to think of it, she had been doing my laundry quite quickly, too, not nagging me to do my own. She hardly ever did my laundry for me, trying to teach me responsibility and all. It was all adding up to equal an odd picture.

Doubts about Mama began to swirl around in my head. She had never lied to me before, but then again, how did I know that for certain? I mean, I had just never caught her in a lie. The idea that my mild-mannered Mama might be lying to me about something this huge was just inconceivable. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew it had to be true. She had lied to me. Why else would she not have wanted me to go down in the basement?

You’re crazy, Kennedy. It’s just a coincidence. Mama couldn’t possibly know about this body. She’d never stay in a house with a dead body, acting like nothing was going on. And furthermore, if a repairman went down in the basement to fix the freezer, wouldn’t
he
have seen the body?

A chilling thought ripped through my body from the strands of hair on my head all the way to my freshly Lindy-painted toenails.
Was this body the repairman?
And. . .
did Mama
kill
him?

My head felt swimmy, like I hadn’t gotten enough sleep (which I hadn’t) or I was about to pass out from shock (which was also a very distinct possibility at the moment).

“The deep freezer was broken,” I stammer. “Mama said she let the repairman in to fix it. Could it…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Fortunately, Carson finished it for me. “That could definitely be a repairman,” Carson said thoughtfully as he continued to stare at the body. I glanced away. It was more than I could take. Until I saw Carson reaching toward the pocket of the body.

“Hey! What are you doing?” I asked, slapping his hand away.

“I wanted to see if he had a wallet on him,” Carson said sheepishly. “Why did you smack my hand?”

“You’ll get your prints all over the body! Come on now, don’t you read?”

“Um, I watch CSI,” he said. “Sorry. I thought maybe we would find ID so we would know who he was.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to know who he is. . .
was
. I just want him out of the basement. I really just want to get out here.” I wrapped my arms around my body and shuddered. Carson nodded.

“You’re right. Let’s get out of here. That smell is making me want to lose my lunch that I haven’t even had yet.” He shined his flashlight toward the exit and guided Colt toward the cellar door.

I followed him as he ascended up the steps into the night air. It was still stifling, but the fresh air was a welcome change from the corpse-rotting basement air. We stood on the grass, staring at each other for a few minutes. A breeze blew through the trees, creating an eerie whistling noise. It send shivers down my spine.

“You still haven’t gotten into the house,” Carson whispered.

“I don’t think I want to get in the house now,” I said. I glanced around the backyard. Sleeping in the house with a body in the basement was about as welcome as an outhouse breeze. “Maybe I’ll just sleep here,” I said, pointing to the picnic bench.

“That’s full of splinters,” Carson said, pointing to his thigh. .

“Well, um, I’ll sleep on the swing in the front, then.”

Not waiting for Carson’s response, I pushed open the gate and crept down the path between our house and the neighbor’s. I was going to cozy myself on the ancient swing in the front yard (that nobody actually used because of course Mama wouldn’t set foot outside in the front yard).

As I stepped out onto the front lawn, it looked so lush and inviting despite the fact it hadn’t rained in two weeks and I hadn’t cut it in even longer. My head started spinning, the front lawn seeming like it was rushing up to meet me.

“Maybe I’ll just sleep on the lawn,” I said deliriously as I sat down.

“The lawn?” Carson wrinkled his brow. “I don’t think you should sleep in the front yard.”

“It’s fine,” I mumbled, my words feeling like marbles in my mouth. Suddenly, I could barely move, exhaustion from lack of sleep and the shock of finding a body in the basement catching me unaware. Without another word, I curled up in a ball and fell fast asleep.

I awoke with a start. Grass was pressed up against my face and my eyelids stuck together. I struggled to sit up, my head thumping like a rap concert was going on inside of it. At first, I didn’t understand where I was. Then, as the early morning light hit my eyes, I remembered the events of the previous evening. I groaned, picking a blade of grass off of my face. That’s when I noticed Carson sitting on the swing and Colt at his feet, nibbling his paws.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Carson said as I struggled to my feet.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Why didn’t you go home?”

He raised his eyebrows as he also got to his feet. “A homicidal maniac on the loose and you think I’m gonna let you sleep on the front lawn?”

I swallowed, overcome with the sweetness of it. I pushed away the thought that Mama could
be
the homicidal maniac.
Mama’s not a killer. There’s a reasonable explanation for all of this.

“Wouldn’t your daddy be looking for you?” I asked.

Carson shook his head. “He’s probably passed out with a whiskey bottle by his feet.” Bitterness clung to his words. I chewed my lip, awkward silence permeated the air. I could hear the crickets chirping

“Thanks,” I finally mumbled, wiping the snot out of my eyes. Could I find myself in any other embarrassing situations in front of this guy?

At the same exact time, I heard the sound of dogs barking in the distance. Colt snapped to attention, his ears perking up as he gazed down the block. Squinting, I could see a hazy outline of hot pink and lime green on the horizon. It took me a minute, but I realized that it was our group of neighborhood busybodies power walking as they did every morning before the sun got high in the sky and it was too hot. If they saw me on the front lawn with Carson there would be a front page ad taken out in the paper, speculating about what happened.

Had I snuck out?
(True)
Did we get drunk?
(False)
Did I sleep with the boy?
(True. . .sort of)
Did Mama lock me out?
(Sort of true)
Did she throw me out?
(False)
We must be drug addicts.
(Definitely false).

“You gotta go,” I hissed as I shoved Carson toward the backyard. If he stepped onto the sidewalk now, there’s no doubt that they would see him.

“What? We gotta—”

“Just go!” I pleaded. “And please don’t tell anybody what we found.”

“I promise,” he said and he and Colt disappeared down the path. I spun on my heel and I dashed over to the front door, scrambling to come up with a plausible excuse if they should see me. I would pretend to be getting the paper and on my way back in the house. . .if I could find the damn paper. I glanced around feverishly, scanning the front walk and the bushes for the wayward paper.
Damn it, was it too early even for the newspaper to be delivered?

Panicking, I realized I had to do something. Inhaling sharply, I knocked timidly on the front door. Hopefully Mama would hear me and open up before the—

“Well, good morning Miss Kennedy! You’re up bright and early!”

I closed my eyes before turning around and offering Mrs. Roth (of the hot pink track suit) my most insincere smile.

“Good morning! Just coming back from my power walk!” I chirped. “Gotta get up and at ‘em before it’s too hot!”

Mrs. Davis (of the lime green track suit), the widow of the former mayor who died in his mistress’s arms, scowled at me. I didn’t take it personally. She scowled at everyone. “You shouldn’t walk alone. It’s not safe out here in the dark, you know.”

Mrs. Anders (who actually was wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweats) flapped her giant bat-wing arms in the air. “Oh, she’s very right dear. Just the other day we saw some suspicious characters behind the bakery. They were going in the dumpster. They could end up robbing you blind if they saw you out walking alone.”

Mrs. Davis squelched her theory. “That was George and his son, the bakers. George accidentally dropped his wedding ring in the dumpster when taking out the morning trash.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Anders snapped her mouth shut.

“Well, nice talking to you,” I said, waving with my fake smile.

“Bye, dear!” Mrs. Anders called as they huffed away, panting and jabbering. I sighed with relief and turned toward the front door.

“Kennedy Ann Ryan!”

My heart stopped as I stood face to face with Mama, her hair disheveled, her pajama top askew.

“Hi, Mama!” I tried to smile at her but my teeth were chattering from fear. She looked like she could just about kill me right then and there. An image of the dead body flashed to mind, causing me to shudder.

Mama grabbed my arm and yanked me into the house like quicksand swallowing up a gator. I was visibly shaking. I knew I was going to get massacred for sneaking out and I didn’t know how I was
not
going to mention the fact that there was a dead body in the basement.

Mama was tiny, yet she still managed to drag me into the living room and shove me down on the couch. I tried not to look directly into her eyes; she would sense I was hiding something big if I did.

“What in heaven’s name were you doing outside at this hour? Were you out all night?” I could swear Mama’s eyes had changed from a soft blue to a fiery orange. I swallowed hard, my mind racing to come up with some excuse, some reason she would buy and go easy on me. I came up with nothing. “Answer me!” she barked.