Board Stiff (Mattie Winston Mysteries) Page 8

  “Hey, pup,” Hurley says, extending a hand. With that, the dog wags his tail and waddles over to us.

  As Hurley gives me a glimpse of his backside by bending down to pet the dog, I’m thinking I’ll be the next one in line to wag and waddle. Those thoughts are cut short when the front door to the house opens. I look and see a jeans and sweatshirt–clad woman with long, straight, dark hair standing there.

  “Are you Mrs. Chase?” I ask.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Ah, a friendly sort. I let Hurley take it from here, figuring his manly attributes might make more headway with the woman than I can.

  I hear a vibrating noise and Hurley straightens up from the dog and takes his phone out. He looks at the screen, frowns, and sticks the thing back in his pocket. The two of us climb the stairs, Hurley speaking as we go. “I’m Detective Steve Hurley from the Sorenson Police Department and this is Mattie Winston, a deputy coroner with the Medical Examiner’s Office.”

  “So who died?” the woman snaps, clearly unimpressed and, one hopes, uninformed of our reason for being here.

  Hurley, never one to mince words, says, “Your husband Bernard.”

  There is the faintest hint of a flinch in her expression and then she smiles. “No, really, why are you here? Is this some practical joke my sister set up?”

  “This is no joke, Mrs. Chase,” Hurley says. “Your husband Bernard was found dead this morning.”

  The smile is gone, replaced with an expression of concern and confusion. Then she rapid-fires questions at us. “What happened? Did he have a heart attack? Was he in a car accident or something?”

  “We won’t know exactly what the cause of death is until an autopsy is performed, but there are some suspicious circumstances surrounding his death. His body was found in one of the bathrooms at the Twilight Home, which I understand your husband owned and ran.”

  Mrs. Chase nods slowly, her eyes gazing off in thought. Then she says, “A bathroom? Did he die on the toilet?”

  “Not exactly,” I say, and she looks at me with such sudden sharpness, I suspect she hasn’t fully registered my presence until now.

  “May we come in?” Hurley asks.

  Mrs. Chase stares at him as if the words he uttered were some foreign language. After a few beats, she nods and steps aside, so Hurley and I head through the door. What I can see of the inside of the house is as ostentatious as the outside, but I’m starting to notice a trend. The floors are bamboo wood, and a good portion of the decor, including most of the furniture, is also made of natural objects such as stone, plant materials, and wood. The lighting at the moment is mostly natural sunlight streaming in through windows, skylights, and sun tubes, and the light fixtures I can see are all fitted with fluorescent bulbs.

  “Your house looks to be very eco-friendly,” I say.

  For a moment, Mrs. Chase’s demeanor changes. Her face lights up and breaks into a huge smile. “Yes, I do try to minimize my footprint on our planet.” She gazes around at the interior and sighs. “It’s a challenge given Bernie’s tastes. He could care less about saving the planet, but I try.” She seems to realize how inappropriate her tone is under the circumstances and looks away with a wince. “Anyway, please tell me what happened to Bernie. Did he suffer? What do I need to do?”

  Her matter-of-fact tone and apparent lack of concern for the death of her husband confuses me at first. I can’t tell if she’s simply in shock or truly indifferent. But her next comment clarifies things.

  “I suppose I’ll need an alibi as I’m certain to be a suspect, right?”

  “Why do you say that?” Hurley asks.

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? The spouse is always one of the first people you cops look at when someone is murdered. I watch enough TV to know that much.”

  “No one said your husband was murdered,” I say.

  She shoots me a look of impatience. “All right, if you want to play word games, we can do that. I believe you said it was suspicious circumstances. That sort of implies murder, doesn’t it? It won’t be a secret that Bernie and I weren’t on the best of terms with our marriage. We’ve been undergoing counseling and we divided the house up into separate suites for each of us months ago. The closest thing we’ve had to sex over the past year is when we occasionally meet at the coffeepot in the morning and one of us says, ‘screw you’ to the other.”

  Hurley bites back a smile. “When’s the last time you saw your husband, Mrs. Chase?”

  She gives him an annoyed look. “Don’t call me that. My name is Vonda Lincoln. Lincoln is my maiden name and I kept it. None of that traditional name-change bull crap for me, thank you very much. As to the last time I saw Bernie . . . to be honest, I’m not sure. I think it’s been several days. That gas hog of a BMW he drives was in the garage last night when I got back from my workout session and it was gone this morning when I went to the grocery store—which reminds me”—she turns and opens a drawer in a small table against the wall, removing paper and pen—“I need to write myself a note so I’ll remember to speak to the manager of the grocery store here. There isn’t enough organic stuff available. I spoke to him last year and he ordered some organic veggies for a while, but now it’s back to the same old crap. He never did get any of the other organic foods I asked for, or the organic cleaners I asked him to stock.”

  “Wow, you’re quite dedicated to this stuff,” I say.

  “I’m just being responsible. That’s the main reason Bernard and I are splitting up. He told me he was green when we met and started dating. He made an effort for a while, but it became clear to me once we were married that he’s just a resource-consuming hog like everyone else. I think he only pretended to be green to win me over. I mean, look at this house. Do you know how hard I had to fight to get the solar panels put in, and the special rain water collection system? But Bernard is all about the money. Screw the earth!! All that matters to him is his wallet and bottom line.

  “I mean really, why can’t he change over from those plastic disposable diapers he buys for patients at the Twilight Home to cloth ones that are laundered? Do you have any idea how much room those diapers take up in the landfills? Or how long it takes for them to decompose?”

  “Laundering the diapers uses resources, too,” I say, and I’m rewarded with another dirty look for my effort.

  “Bernie doesn’t care about the environment at all,” Vonda goes on. “I tried to convince him to cut back on the lighting in that place, but he wouldn’t do it. Hell, so many of those old folks can’t see worth a damn even when the lighting is good, so why have everything lit up so brightly all the time? And don’t even get me started on the water consumption issue. I mean, come on, do those old folks really have to flush every single time they use a toilet? Some of them have bladders the size of a pea and they go twenty times a day.”

  I realize I’m staring at Vonda with my mouth hanging open and I snap it shut. The woman is clearly on a roll; it’s as if someone flipped a switch and turned her on, like some Disneyland animatronic spokesperson for green living. She has grown so animated with her speech that small beads of sweat have broken out on her brow. I don’t know about Hurley, but I don’t have any idea what to say to this woman. Then, as I take in the designer jeans she’s wearing, I metaphorically perform a circus act by sticking my foot way into my mouth.

  “Do you know that those jeans you’re wearing are made in China, a country with a huge carbon footprint, and that they have a formaldehyde coating on them when they’re first made?”

  Hurley and Vonda stare at me like I’m the star attraction at the freak show. Vonda’s expression turns into something scary. It makes it easy for me to imagine her killing her husband and any costly or eco-unfriendly patients at the Twilight Home.

  “I’m just saying that sometimes it’s easier to talk about living green than it is to actually do it,” I say, wincing at the nervous tremor I can hear in my voice.

  Hurley’s phone buzzes again and after a quick
glance at the screen, he hits the IGNORE button and returns the phone to his pocket. He turns his attention back to the Green Menace and breaks the silence. “Can you vouch for your whereabouts this morning?”

  “I’m sure the folks at the grocery store will remember me,” Vonda says.

  And not fondly, I imagine.

  “Other than that, I’ve been here at the house all morning. When did Bernie die?”

  “I’m not at liberty to share that information at this time,” Hurley says, which I know is a dodge since we don’t really know yet. “When were you at the grocery store?”

  Vonda’s mouth morphs into a sardonic grin that gives me a chill. “I’m not at liberty to share that information at this time.”

  I’m impressed that Hurley’s expression doesn’t alter one whit. Still stone-faced he asks, “Do you mind if we take a look around?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Vonda tilts her head to the side and folds her arms over her chest. Her body language is clear.

  I’m not sure at what point she decided we were the enemy, but that line has definitely been drawn. I suspect it happened when I turned fashion police on her, and as such, I’m going to hear it from Hurley later.

  “Since Bernard didn’t die here and this is my home as well as his, I believe I have the right to refuse you entry without a search warrant, don’t I?”

  “Yes, you do, for now,” Hurley says. “But I assure you I’ll return with one later. In the meantime, don’t leave town. Good day, Mrs. Chase.”

  Hurley whirls around and leaves the house so fast it takes me a few seconds to realize I should be leaving with him. I’m tickled and smiling at the nasty little jibe he made by calling Vonda Mrs. Chase, but when I glance over at her and see her glaring at me, my smile evaporates. I make a hasty retreat, flinching and nearly falling down the stairs when I hear the front door of the house slam closed behind me. Hurley is already in his car with the engine running when I hop into the front seat. He revs the engine and tears out before I can get my seatbelt on, leaving a blue cloud of smoke behind us. I suspect this is no accident. Hurley’s cloud of smog is one last flip of the finger to Vonda.

  His face is tight and he looks mad, but I’m not sure if it’s at me or Vonda. “Boy, she’s a piece of work, isn’t she?” I say, finally securing my seatbelt as he turns onto the county road and eases up to highway speed. He says nothing, so I try again. “I’m glad we got out of there when we did. If we’d stayed much longer, I suspect she would have had me rolling my own tampons.”

  Hurley’s face twitches and then he breaks into a grin. He glances over at me and shakes his head.

  “What?” I say.

  “That’s one of the things I love about you, Winston. You can always make me laugh.”

  Oh. My. God. He said he loves me. Well, sort of.

  “What’s your take?” Hurley asks.

  My take is it’s ass-kicking, mind-boggling, heart-thumping awesome!

  “Do you think she killed him?” Hurley says.

  Okay, he didn’t exactly say he loves me, but he did say he loves something about me. That still counts, doesn’t it? I wonder what Dr. Maggie’s take on it will be?

  “Mattie?”

  Back down to earth . . . “Um, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Since when are you one to equivocate?”

  “We should wait and see what the time of death turns out to be and then check out her alibi. No doubt the store manager will remember her if her story of taking him to task is true, so that part should be easy to check. Maybe that will rule her out. It’s too early to say, I think.”

  Hurley shoots me a quizzical look, like he thinks maybe I’ve turned into a pod person.

  “Do you think she did it?” I ask him.

  “To be honest, no, I don’t, not that she couldn’t have, though. If the level of animosity she has toward Bernard is any indication, she’s got motive aplenty. She isn’t a large woman, but she is tall and solidly built and I think she could take the guy. They’re about the same height and while he outweighs her, he looked kind of soft, whereas it’s obvious she’s serious about working out; her arms are muscular, and those legs may be slender, but I’m betting they’re powerful.”

  There’s a hint of admiration in Hurley’s voice when he mentions Vonda’s legs. I make a mental note about my own commitment to continue working out, and one of my thigh muscles twitches in protest at the thought. “So why don’t you think she did it?”

  “Because she seems a little too eager to have us think she did. I suspect she has an ulterior motive. She wants a chance to get some free publicity to push her green platform.”

  “Ah.” I see how that could work and give a grudging nod of respect to Vonda. She might be smarter than she looks. “Does that mean you aren’t going to go back there with a search warrant?”

  “Oh, I’m going back there all right. And I plan to tear through every bit of that place—hers and his—if for no other reason than to piss her off. I don’t like that woman.”

  Good. Legs aren’t everything. “So where do we go from here?” To me it’s a loaded question that can apply to our case, our relationship, our lives, and our jobs. But Hurley jumps straight to the case.

  “Are you hungry? I need to get a bite to eat, then we should head for your office to see what Izzy has come up with on the autopsy.”

  “Food sounds good to me.” The nausea from earlier has dissipated for the moment and now all I feel is hungry. I’m hoping it was hunger that caused the nausea in the first place. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Does Chinese sound okay?”

  It does, and a few minutes later we are seated in a booth at the Peking Palace. I don’t bother to look at the menu. I have it and practically every other menu in town memorized. Hurley doesn’t look at it either; we just snag a passing waitress and give her our order.

  As I sit in the afterglow of Hurley’s love comment on top of the gleeful anticipation of finally getting some food, the Fates decide to screw with me yet again. I see Hurley focus on something over my shoulder toward the main entrance, and his expression changes to something I can’t quite interpret. Then I hear a voice I’ve heard before, on the night that broke my heart.

  Chapter 10

  “Steve, you haven’t been answering your cell phone. What’s up with that?”

  It’s Kate, Hurley’s wife from fifteen years ago, the one he said he thought he had divorced after only a few months of marriage. Standing beside her is the daughter the two of them apparently had. I wonder if Hurley had a DNA test done, though even without a test, it’s not hard to believe that Emily is his. She has the same tall build, dark complexion, jet black hair, and brilliant blue eyes Hurley has, whereas Kate is medium height, mousy complected, reed thin, and has brown hair and eyes. In fact, if one were to go on physical appearances alone, it’s easier to believe Emily is Hurley’s daughter than it is to believe she’s Kate’s.

  My understanding of the situation two months ago when Kate and Emily first appeared on the scene was that Kate was broke and had nowhere else to go. She’d lost her job and her house, and she needed to mooch off Hurley for a while. The idea of a daughter certainly made that an easier sell, so, physical resemblances aside, I hope Hurley checks the veracity of Kate’s claim if he hasn’t already.

  “I’ve been busy,” Hurley says, sounding annoyed. “I’m working a case.”

  “Yes,” Kate says with a brittle smile and a sideways glance toward me. “I see how hard you’re working. If I hadn’t seen your car pull in here, who knows how long you could have been working here with your . . . your . . .” She pauses and cocks her head at me. “Just what is your relationship these days?”

  “Actually, Mattie recently took back her old job so we’re working partners again.”

  “Really?” Kate flashes that brittle smile again.

  Emily, who is standing beside her mother looking embarrassed and extremely uncomfortable, glances around us to see who mig
ht be watching or listening in on our awkward exchange.

  “What do you want, Kate?”

  “Something urgent has come up and I need to go out of town for a few days. I want to leave Emily here with you, but I didn’t want to do so without asking first.”

  Having Kate’s butt as far away from here as possible sounds good to me, so I’m a little annoyed when Hurley starts giving her the third degree.

  “What’s so urgent that you need to leave now? Why is it going to take a few days? And why can’t you take Emily?” He seems to sense that his words might have come across harsher than he meant and he turns to Emily. “Not that you aren’t welcome to stay, Em. You are. You’re welcome in my home any time and for as long as you want. I just want to know what your mother is up to.”

  His words hit me hard. I realize that any relationship I have with Hurley in the future will, out of necessity, also include Kate and Emily. I’m not sure I like the idea, at least the Kate part. Then I again remind myself that I can’t have that kind of relationship with Hurley, anyway, so it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t. So why does it? Damn.

  “I found Brent,” Kate says.

  Hurley, who looks puzzled, shakes his head and shrugs.

  “Brent,” she repeats. “My brother?”

  “I thought you said he was dead.”

  “I said I thought he might be dead for all I knew because I hadn’t heard from or seen him for so long. The last time I did, he was heavy into drugs and hanging with a bad crowd.”

  “Then why would you want to hook up with him?” Hurley asks. “That’s the last thing you and Emily need in your life right now.”