Текст книги "The Murder Pit"

Автор книги: Jeff Shelby

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

NINETEEN

“Let’s just say Helen and I don’t see eye to eye and it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s taller than me,” Olga said, picking up her coffee mug again.

“Why’s that?” I asked, trying to sound vaguely interested without coming off as totally intrusive.

“Mainly because I think she’s a lying shrew.”

“Oh.”

She stared at the mug like she was going to take a bite out of it. “That woman ruined my brother. From day one. But he wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to warn him off, but he just got sucked in by that succubus.” She snarled at the cup and took a sip. She licked at her lips. “I can’t think of one good thing that came from their relationship. Not one good thing.”

I looked around, but the clowns started freaking me out again, so I moved my gaze back to her. “So you were happy about the divorce then?”

“Oh, you betcha,” she said, nodding furiously. “You betcha. I was so glad. It wouldn’t be soon enough if I never saw her again.”

“I don’t want to pry, but Olaf and I didn’t talk about our divorces when we went to dinner,” I said carefully. “Why did he and Helen get divorced?”

“Because she’s a horrible creature who would be better off living at the bottom of a lake where she could bottom feed for the rest of her pathetic life,” she said. “Among other things.”

“Right,” I said, sipping the coffee.

She waved her hand in the air. “They just didn’t get along. At all. Anything that interested Olaf, Helen would belittle or dismiss. The only things that mattered were the things that mattered to Helen.” Her eyes narrowed again. “And I think she stepped out on him.”

“You mean had an affair?”

She tugged at the lapel on her blazer. “Olaf told me I didn’t know what I was talking about, but I always had a suspicion. No proof so there wasn’t anything I could do about it.” A small smile creased her lips. “But when Olaf told me they were getting a divorce, I couldn’t help but hug him. He wasn’t too happy about that.”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“And either was Helen,” she said, still smiling. “Pretty sure there was a lot of crying and whining that night.”

I replayed that last sentence in my head again. “Wait. Helen wasn’t happy with the divorce?”

She glanced at me like I was crazy. “Shoot no, she wasn’t. She had it good with Olaf. He worked, made good money. The house was paid for. She was the happy housewife. When he told her wanted out, she saw the gravy train leaving town.” She shook her head. “She was not happy in any way at all.”

The wheels were spinning in my head. “But I heard that she was the one who wanted the divorce and that Olaf wasn’t sure about it.”

She shook her head. Adamantly. “No way, no how. She promised him that things would change and I think, at first, maybe he thought about staying with her. But then nothing changed and he was still miserable and he told her they were done.” Olga smiled. “And Helen cried and cried and cried.”

I pressed my lips together and thought back to my conversation with Helen. That was a far different story than what she’d told me in the library.

“And he would’ve asked you out again, like I said,” Olga said, the mug gripped tightly in her hands. “But she just wouldn’t leave him alone.”

I swallowed. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. I’d been singularly unimpressed with my date with Olaf and had had no intentions of seeing him again. “What do you mean?” I asked. And then, for clarification, I added, “About Helen not leaving him alone?”

She frowned. “She wouldn’t give it up,” she said. “When they were going through the divorce, she’d ‘forget’ to show up at meetings with the lawyer. She’d ‘forget’ to sign papers that had to be signed. She’d call him over and pretend something needed fixing when all she wanted was to try and talk him out of it again. Anytime he tried to really separate from her, she used her tentacles to pull him back in.” She paused. “I know she did something after your date with him, but I can’t remember what. I know he was mad, though.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “She just wouldn’t leave him alone. I’m not sure who you heard what from, but there was no way she wanted the divorce. Olaf did, plain and simple.”

So someone was lying. I just wasn’t sure who. Olaf certainly hadn’t seemed like the kind of person who had it in him to lie, but what did I know? I’d only spent a couple of hours with him. Olga was certainly biased in her opinion of Helen and toward her brother—and probably slightly insane—but that might’ve just been sibling favoritism. And I had yet to figure out Helen.

Which left me nowhere.

I set the mug down on the table. “So let me ask you this, then. Why did you think I killed your brother?”

A sheepish look crossed her face. “I was mad. You were an easy target.” She looked at me. “But I asked around a little. I don’t really think you did anything to Olaf.”

And yet she accused me several times before tackling me on the sidewalk. In the snow. Insanity was looking more and more plausible.

“Could Helen have done something to him?” I asked.

She stared into her coffee for a long moment, then turned her attention back to me. “I don’t think so.”

“But you said she was giving him such a hard time…”

“Oh, you bet she was,” she said, her brows furrowing together. “But he was her golden ticket. He took care of her. I think she thought he’d still come back to her. I know she still wanted him back. She was mad at him, but I don’t think she would’ve hurt him because that would’ve meant the end of her free ride.” She shook her head slowly. “As much as I’d like to blame her, I don’t think it was Helen.”

I shifted my weight, trying to get comfortable on her lopsided couch. “So then who?”

She thought hard for a moment. “I honestly don’t know anyone who would’ve wanted to hurt Olaf. It’s not like he had enemies or anything.”

Which made me think maybe Helen did actually have something to do with his death.

Olga glanced at the clock on the wall, a skinny clown whose arms moved in circles. “I don’t mean to be rude but I need to get downstairs. We have a viewing tonight and Mildred isn’t ready yet.”

“Mildred? Is that a co-worker of yours?”

Olga covered her mouth, snorting with laughter. “No.”

I nodded and stood. I didn’t think I wanted to know who Mildred was…or what she needed to do to get her ready.

“Thank you for the coffee,” I told her. “And for sharing your thoughts.”

Olga stood, too, and brushed at the lapels on her blazer. “I just want to know why.”

“And who,” I said.

She eyed me for a moment. “You really didn’t do it, did you? Tell me you didn’t do it.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t kill Olaf. I swear.”

She thought about that, then nodded. “Okay. I believe you.” Then something flashed through her eyes. “You have kids, right? I think I remember seeing them when we were, you know, fighting or whatever.”

“Yes,” I said, unsure why she was asking. If she was about to insinuate that one of them might be responsible for her brother’s death, I’d have definite confirmation of her insanity. “Four.”

“Well, I bet they have birthdays,” she said, smiling brightly.

I stared at her in confusion. How had we gone from discussing her brother’s death and personal life to my kids’ birthdays?

“So if you ever need a clown you should call me.” She wiggled her eyebrows and honked her nose, as if she was in full clown costume. “I’d be happy to do it. You know, to sort of make up for everything.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding. “Um, thanks.”

The last thing I’d ever want to see was Olga, in my house, entertaining my kids, dressed as a clown. But, still. It was a nice gesture.

Sort of.

TWENTY

“It was like the circus,” I said to Jake.

We were sitting at the table, puzzle pieces scattered on the surface. It was after dinner and I’d pulled out a 300 piece puzzle, a Disneyland castle scene. The girls had helped us for all of five minutes before giving up and heading off to play Barbies instead. Emily was holed up in her room, chatting with Bailey on Skype and Will had disappeared to play Minecraft. For the first time that evening, we were alone and I was able to tell Jake about my conversation with Olga.

“A circus of dead people?” he asked.

I snapped together another edge piece. “Yeah, the mortuary thing is weird.”

“You don’t say,” he said, smiling. He craned his neck closer to the box, inspecting the picture. “Clowns and dead people are not my favorite things.”

“Especially when they are all looking at you,” I told him.

He raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to me. “There were dead people looking at you?”

I rolled my eyes. “No.”

He grinned.

“Anyway, you wouldn’t have lasted thirty seconds in her apartment.”

Jake wasn’t afraid of many things. He’d shown no fear in going up in the crawl space, nor in clearing out the army of spiders that had called our house their home. He didn’t mind confronting people when they needed to be confronted. He just didn’t show much fear of anything.

But he would squirm like a small child when he saw a clown. He’d cross the street to avoid them. He hated the county fair because they’d be there. Parades were dicey. Floppy shoes and red noses caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

He hated them.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone that decorates their apartment with clowns,” he said. He fit together a piece of the sky. “Or obviously dresses up as one.”

“Well, you have issues.”

He picked up a new piece and looked at me. “Everyone should have issues with clowns. They’re horrible. I honestly think there should be a law banning them.”

“I’m aware.You’ve mentioned this before. About a thousand times.”

“At minimum, there should be a fine,” he continued. “Put on a wig and some makeup, bam. Five hundred dollar fine. Ride a unicycle and juggle with face paint? Make it seven fifty. Multiple citations mean jail time. I should run for mayor and make it happen.”

“The mayor doesn’t make the laws, honey,” I said. I hunted for another castle wall piece and snapped it in place. “But I’d support you anyway. And your anti-clown platform.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Now. Let’s talk about why exactly you went to see Olga today.”

“I told you why.”

“I mean, what your thought process was that got you to the point that you thought going to visit her and ask questions was a good idea.”

“I’m not following.”

There was a bottle of beer sitting on the table and he picked it up and took a swig. “Why did you take it upon yourself to play Jessica Fletcher?”

I frowned. “Jessica who?”

“The old lady from Murder, She Wrote,” he said, returning my frown with one of his own. “Didn’t you ever watch that show?”

“No.” I wasn’t going to admit that I’d never heard of it, either.

“Well, you should have,” he said. He handed the bottle to me and I took a sip. “We’ll remedy that another time. But let me ask this another way. You’re a wife, a mom, a teacher, a home engineer and a sex goddess. What you are not is a detective. Why were you playing one today?”

“I wasn’t playing detective,” I said. I set the beer down and looked at him. “I was just…trying to find out some more information.”

“Which is what Crocket and Tubbs used to do on Miami Vice,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Who? On what?”

“Oh my God,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Never mind. My point is that you were doing something you didn’t need to be doing. Why?”

I sighed. “Because I feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Unless you killed him. Wait,” he said, his eyes going wide. “Did you?”

I glared at him. “Stop. Of course I didn’t. But I feel like I was the one who brought him to our home. And Em was getting some flack from kids at school and the homeschool families at the co-op clearly aren’t comfortable with it. So it feels like it’s my fault.”

“But it’s not,” Jake said. He sifted through the edge pieces, looking for another blue sky piece.

“Still. Someone put him in our coal chute for a reason. And I think that reason was me.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” he said.

I shrugged. “There really isn’t another explanation.”

And there wasn’t, because I’d run all the possibilities through my head all day long. I was the one link between Olaf and our coal chute. There weren’t any other possibilities, unless you believed in totally random coincidences. And I didn’t. I believed in karma and good luck and wishes but coincidences? No way. Everything happened for a reason.

“Even if that’s the case,” Jake said, bringing the puzzle box closer and peering at it. “That doesn’t mean it’s up to you to solve the crime. You’re a homeschool mom, not a detective.”

“Yeah but we’ve done a crime scene unit study,” I argued. “I know stuff.”

He chuckled and covered my hand with his. “I do love your enthusiasm. Doing a unit study with the kids, though, is probably a little bit different than solving an actual crime. And also it’s probably a little less, I don’t know…dangerous?”

“I talked to a lady at a mortuary,” I said, my voice filled with disdain. “I didn’t chase down a knife-wielding maniac.”

“The lady at the mortuary was also a clown,” he said. “Which is worse than a knife-wielding maniac. Everyone knows that.”

“Of course” I said. “Clowns are deadly. I forgot.”

“Daisy.” His voice commanded me to look at him.

I met his gaze. “Jake.”

“Please don’t play amateur detective anymore,” he said. “There are plenty of people around to do that. They’re called the police.”

I tried to wrench my hand out from under his, but he tightened his grip and pulled me off my chair and into his lap. Part of me hated when he did that, but more of me loved it.

“Daisy,” he said, looking at me. “I’m serious. Don’t get carried away here. Let the police do their job.”

I wiggled my arms free and wrapped them around his neck. “Maybe. But right now, I think I’d like to do one of my jobs.”

He smiled and lifted his hips off the chair just a little, pushing into me. “I really, really hope it’s sex goddess and not home engineer.”

I kissed his ear and the half-done puzzle scattered across the table suddenly lost its importance. “You hoped right.”

TWENTY ONE

“Why are we going to Jake’s work?” Will asked from the back seat.

It was the next morning and I was focusing on my mom duties rather than my amateur detective duties. I’d pulled all three of the younger kids out of bed earlier than they were used to and they were still a little sleepy-eyed as I loaded them into the car.

“We’re touring the recycling plant,” I said, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Remember?”

He shrugged and looked out the window.

“I like Daddy’s work,” Sophie said, then yawning. “There’s always cool stuff there.”

“Oh yeah!” Grace said, squirming in her car seat. “Remember when he brought home that headless doll?”

“Yeah!” Sophie said. “And that teddy bear with no legs!”

“Those are so cool,” Grace said. “I hope we find something cool like that today.”

I just hoped I wouldn’t lose any of them on a conveyor belt or to one of the massive trash pickers.

We’d been to Jake’s plant before and the truth was, just calling it a recycling plant didn’t really do it justice. It was funded by the state and what it really did was sort people’s trash in an attempt to recycle as much of it as possible. So they started with large piles and continued sorting it down until they were down to what was truly waste. The plant itself was a maze of conveyors and robots and there tons of places to view the process. Fun and educational and helping to save the planet.

Like, three of my favorite things.

We saw one familiar car in the parking lot and the kids hurried out of the SUV to go look for their friends the conference room. Jake was there, waiting for us, when we walked in.

He kissed me on the cheek. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I said, peering into the room.

Brenda Witt was seated at the table with her five kids. The youngest, baby Mary, was snuggled in a baby carrier against her chest.

Brenda grinned when she saw me. “Hey, Killer.”

I smiled. “Knock it off or you’re next.”

Brenda and I had been friends since Thornton and I moved to Minnesota. Actually, we’d been friends before—I’d visited a few online homeschool groups before the move, trying to figure out co-ops and what the local homeschool culture might be like. Brenda had responded right away and a friendship was born.

“You’re gonna have to fill me in on what happened,” she said. Mary squirmed and a cry tore from her. Brenda fumbled for the pacifier attached to the carrier and gave it back to the baby, who sucked it furiously, eyes closed, her brow furrowed.

“Let’s just say I would have much rather been in Florida with you guys this last week,” I said.

She nodded sympathetically, her short brown bob bouncing up and down. “And not just because of the weather, right?”

“Exactly.”

I set my purse down on the table and glanced out the window that faced the parking lot. No one else had arrived yet for the tour. I shifted my gaze to the clock mounted on the wall. Our tour was supposed to have started five minutes ago.

Brenda read my mind. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Probably hiding from the murderer,” I said bitterly.

She frowned. “What?”

“Oh, everyone apparently thinks that since Olaf was found in my house, I’m suspect number one. Even though we didn’t know we had a coal chute. Even though I’d only met Olaf one time. For a total of two hours. You know, completely logical.”

Brenda rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I hate people.”

I stifled a smile. “Me, too.”

I didn’t hate all people and neither did Brenda. But what we did hate were judgmental, narrow-minded people. Well, and people who walked slow and people who tail-gated us and people who cut in line at McDonald’s. Homeschooling might have been the foundation of our friendship but it was our kindred spirit-ness that was the glue that bound us together.

Jake walked back into the conference room and looked around. “Is this everyone?”

I’d checked the sign-up document online right before we’d left. There had been six families signed up. A total of eighteen kids. With Brenda’s five and my four, we were only at nine.

I sighed.“Apparently so.”

“Okay,” he said. He hesitated, and I knew he wanted to ask questions. But the kids had all stopped talking and were watching us with eagle eyes, wondering what was going on. Jake cleared his throat. “We’ll get started in just a few. And just to warn you ahead of time. We have another group coming today, too. A bigger group.” He leaned into my ear. “A public school group.”

I made a face. “That’s fine.”

“Well, you usually talk about school groups like they carry the bubonic plague,” he said, grinning. “Just wanted to prepare you for the invasion.”

As homeschoolers, we were spoiled. We never waited in lines at amusement parks or museums or zoos because we went during the day, when most kids were in school. Anytime we saw the yellow buses roll up, I’d cringe a little. Not because I disliked public school kids—Jake and I both went to brick and mortar schools and we had one kid currently enrolled—but because it usually signaled the arrival of a crowd we weren’t ready for and lines we hadn’t anticipated.

“We’ll handle the invasion just fine,” I said. “No turf wars or anything. I promise.”

He winked at me. “Excellent. Give me a minute and I’ll be back and we’ll get started.” He trotted off down the hall.

I settled into the seat next to Brenda and, in a low voice, filled her in on what had happened. The 4-H meeting. The sign-ups at co-op. The crazy sister and ex-wife. She sat and listened, even while Derek, her two-year old, attached himself to her pant leg and Drew, her five year old, babbled loudly about Mario Brothers. She didn’t judge and didn’t offer advice; she just listened. And it was exactly what I needed.

Jake finally came back with another employee at the plant. It was someone I didn’t recognize, an older, grizzled man wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and worn work boots. He greeted us with a grim smile and he and Jake went through the basics of the place—how it worked, where the trash came from, what they did with the materials they collected and recycled. He played a short video that showed everything he’d just explained in action. When the video ended, Jake and Gus, the other employee, herded us into the hallway and distributed hard hats to everyone. After some persuading, Brenda convinced Gus that a hard hat would not, in fact, fit on Mary’s head and that she would do her best to shield the baby with her body instead.

“It doesn’t smell as bad as it usually does,” Will said as we walked.

“That’s because it’s winter and it’s not as hot, so the garbage isn’t ripe,” I said.

“Ripe? Like a piece of fruit?” Grace yelled, trying to be heard above the whir of the machines.

“Something like that,” I called back.

Will wrinkled his nose. “You mean gross.”

“Right. Gross.”

“Good,” Will said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and made a face. “Normally, I want to vomit when we go out there in the big recycling room.”

“Well, let’s hope for no vomiting today,” I said.

“I hope for that every day.”

I rolled my eyes.

Jake took us through a series of doors that led to a massive storage building where the garbage was dumped. It was roughly the size of an airplane hangar. Trucks drove in through a large door, dumped their haulers into a massive pile of trash and then drove out another door. There were mountains and mountains of trash. Bulldozers then dug into the mounds, lifting trash and moving it onto the conveyor belts, where men in little booths used mechanical arms to sort through it as it rode past them. Whatever they chose to remove from the belts was then put in another bin for the next level of sorting. It was all incredibly efficient and made my heart flutter to actually witness something that was truly helping to make the planet a better place.

It was what Jake called my “hippie vibe.”

Whatever it was, it was in full force as we walked into the storage building.

Jake spoke to the kids about what they collected and where it all went after it was sorted and the kids were starting to ask questions about the weird things they found when the next school group was brought into the observation room.

The group was roughly five times the size of ours and the kids looked like they were Grace’s age, either 2nd or 3rd graders. They crowded toward us, squealing with excitement, awed both by the size of the room and the mountains of trash. One kid started to wander off from the group toward one of the trash piles, but was quickly herded back to the group by one of the adults with the group, a woman who looked oddly familiar. Long brown hair. Thick-heeled shoes that looked more appropriate for a fashion show than a field trip.

Helen Stunderson.

She wore a thick black sweater and a crème colored corduroy skirt over black tights. Big silver earrings jangled from her ears as she rushed the boy back to the pack, her face contorted in anger as she chastised him.

I stared at her. Olaf hadn’t mentioned that they had a child. Why was she there? Was she stalking me again? That didn’t seem plausible, given that she was with the group from the school.

She took a deep breath, adjusted one of her earrings and did a double take when she saw me. She froze for a moment and her cheeks bloomed pink. Then she blinked, lifted her chin and looked back at the employee who was leading their group.

Seeing her completely unnerved me. I was already confused about her lying to me at the library and because Olga had given me a completely different story than what Helen had. Now she was showing up on the same field trip as me?

Jake had said it himself. Too many coincidences.

Helen glanced my way again, then quickly looked back to their guide. She did that two more times before Jake ushered our group up the stairs and into one of the picker booths.

The kids packed themselves next to one of windows and watched the conveyor belt as the guy at the booth controls used the long metal arms to sort, move and pick through the trash riding up the belt. They giggled and pointed. I glanced out the window.

Helen’s group was no longer in sight.

I tried to focus on why we were there to begin with.

Grace stuck her finger on the window. “I see a doll! Can we get the doll, Mommy?”

“Probably not.”

“Awwww.” Grace’s face fell. “I don’t want her to die in the trash.”

“There’s another one!” Sophie yelled. “They are probably sister dolls!”

Jake made his way around the crowd of kids to me. “Are you alright?”

I looked at him. “Of course.”

“You look…I don’t know. Kind of weirded out.”

“Just all these dead dolls,” I said, motioning to the conveyor belt.

He eyed me dubiously.

“I’m fine,” I said, touching his elbow. “Really.”

He raised an eyebrow like he wasn’t buying the explanation. He never bought my fake explanations, which was really annoying. He knew me too well and could see right through me when I was trying to avoid telling him something. There was something really wonderful about being that connected to another human being but sometimes I hated not being able to hide anything from him.

He moved away from me and announced to the kids that we were going to go back downstairs and take a closer look in the bins that the picking machine was dropping things into. Our small group of kids cheered and moved for the door to the stairs. I held the door, making sure they all got out and that we didn’t leave Derek behind to drive the controls of the picking robot. Because, at two years old, it was absolutely something he would do. The guy at the controls waved at me as I said goodbye.

Jake and Brenda and the kids were already down the stairs by the time I stepped out of the booth, their excitement hurrying their steps so they could see what kind of treasures were in the bins. I held onto the metal railing next to the steep stairs and reached the bottom.

Just as Helen Stunderson came out from behind the stairs and blocked my path.