Karma's A Bitch (A Pet Psychic Mystery) (14 page)

As I watched the woman walk up the sidewalk and enter the house, I wracked my brain. She looked familiar. Where had I seen her before? She was in and out in less than a minute and, as she walked back to the car, the moonlight was enough for me to see her face. It wasn’t a woman, it was a girl—one of the twins who worked with Landon Stark.

As I tried to make myself the size and shape of the palm tree, I chewed on this new piece of the puzzle. Did this mean that Landon owned the townhouse? That he had something to do with Mad Dog’s death? Oh heavens, I hoped that wasn’t true. That would break Sylvia’s heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was a stormy Wednesday afternoon before I saw Will again. He strolled through the door of the boutique, shaking off a black umbrella and looking very serious in his slacks and detective shield.

“Hi.” I managed. All kinds of things swirled around inside me. Things I didn’t know how to deal with. Guilt for one—I had promised him no more dangerous investigating. And the battle to get close to him—something that couldn’t happen no matter how much my heart was begging for it.

“You avoiding me?” His voice was so tender. His smile, too.

Yes
. Now I felt guilty about that, too. “No, of course not.”

“I’ve left you about a dozen messages. Gives a guy a complex when a girl doesn’t call back, you know.” He reached out and stroked my hand, which was resting on the counter. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” My shoulders slumped. Was I even up for this battle? Grandma Winters had prepared us girls for lots of other dangers but no one bothered to tell us what to do to keep from losing our hearts. “Just going through some stuff. You know, personal stuff I have to work out.” That was pretty close to the truth. I could live with myself for that excuse.

“Can you get away for lunch?” I was about to say no, but then he added: “I’ve got some information for you. The autopsy report is back.”

Mad Dog’s autopsy report? My heart did a flip flop. I couldn’t say no to that.

“Let me see if Sylvia’s almost done with the Yorkie. Be right back.”

We stepped out into the downpour ten minutes later, his arm around my shoulders, his umbrella over our heads. Safe against him, with the scent of the rain, was almost happiness overload. I kept reminding myself this had to be temporary—which made it all the sweeter and more painful.

We opted for a short sprint to the Parkshore Grill and still arrived with soaked feet and arms. The hostess led us to one of their comfy dark oak booths in the corner. The perfect seat for watching the rain and lightning show out of the double glass doors. I felt myself relaxing in the dim atmosphere with the smell of fried seafood wafting from the kitchen.

We ordered some hot seafood chowder to warm us up. “So,” Shivering, I wiped off my arms with the cloth napkin. “What did the autopsy report say?”

Will reached across the table and covered my wrists with one of his large hands, his thumb fidgeting with my mala beads. Long pulses of warm energy slid up my arms. Oh heavens, the rain was turning up the intensity. I suddenly didn’t need the soup. “It said that you were right. The tox screen showed no alcohol or drugs in his system.” He stopped, letting that sink in.

I was right? I mean, I had felt I was right but it was so different from knowing for sure. The relief was like bags of sand being lifted off my chest. Mad Dog hadn’t fallen off the wagon. He had been faithful to himself and to Karma. He had kept his promise. And died anyway. Why?

I waited until the waiter filled our water glasses before I asked the big question.

“And the cause of death?”

“Was not drowning.” Will’s eyes crinkled with compassion, though his tone of voice revealed pure frustration. “There was no water in his lungs. He was deceased before he hit the lake.”

“Which…which means that someone had to have put him in the lake, right? I mean, if he was already gone, he couldn’t have got in there by himself.”

“Seems to be the logical conclusion, yes.”

“So, how did he die?”

“It was a brain hemorrhage.”

“And that’s caused by?”

“Most likely head trauma. Mr. Fowler also had a hairline fracture to his skull. And,” he was watching me closely, making sure I still wanted him to go on. “And two broken ribs that were healing, but recent.”

I moved my hands up to cover my mouth. I knew it. “I should have done something. I knew he was getting hurt and I didn’t do anything.” Warm tears spilled down my cheeks. Will reached across and wiped at them with his thumb.

“I won’t let you blame yourself, Darwin. Mr. Fowler was a grown man. He made his own decisions. He could have come to the police if he wanted to.”

I shook my head. “Why didn’t he want to?”

“I don’t know, but look,” he held my gaze. “You should feel better. Something is being done now. His case will be treated as a homicide and investigated. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Yeah, that did make me feel a little better. It wouldn’t bring him back but at least I wouldn’t be the only one trying to figure out what happened that night.

“So, what about the suicide note?”

He sighed. “I really shouldn’t be discussing the investigation any further with you.”

The waiter brought our soup. “Thank you.”

He stared at me through the steam, a round of thunder shaking the glass doors. “That will be the first thing I check into. I’ll talk to the person at Pirate City who turned over the note and try to figure out why someone would forge it.”

I stuck a spoon in my soup and stirred it. “Well, we know why. To try and cover up his murder.” I wanted to ask him who at Pirate City had given them the note, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me.

There were things I could tell him: about the townhouse and Landon’s assistants having access to it; about Vick hurting Maddy; about Karma’s reaction to the two policemen. But, I wasn’t sure what any of it meant. And besides, I couldn’t tell him without telling him
how
I knew these things.

“There’s something else I thought you might want to know.” He pulled a card from his pocket and slid it across the table to me.

I looked at the card. On it was written: Mariah 1/26/03

“What’s this?”

“It was a tattoo on his right arm. A heart. You want to find his next of kin? Give him a proper place of rest? He probably had a daughter. I’d start looking on the internet for a Mariah Fowler.”

A daughter? Oh my heavens. A tiny spark, like a firecracker, burst in my chest. “Thank you, Will.” 2003? She would be what? Eight years old? He said he didn’t have any family, though. Why wouldn’t he tell me about a daughter?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Frankie borrowed Vick’s Ford pickup Saturday morning and, as we drove it down the street, loaded with items purchased with some of the benefit money, we could see the gang waiting for us. Frankie honked the horn.

We waved and slid out of the truck as everyone gathered around.

“All right, don’t just stand around with your mouths open! Start hauling stuff out.” Frankie laughed and lowered the gate. “Get the bikes out first. They’re laying on top of the stove.”

“Whoa! Bikes!” The pirate boy said.

“Those are not to sell; they’re to get to jobs. Got me?” Frankie gave him a stern look.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I waved at G, who stood in the back, cradling his box and singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” Darn. In all the excitement, I forgot his cookies.

“Here, Pops.” Frankie pointed inside the truck. “That box right there is heavy.”

“Got it, Mama Maslow.” Pops winked at her and pulled the box free.

“Minnie, you can get that one. It’s just t-shirts.”

They all worked together, pulling stuff out of the back and disappearing with it down the path and into the woods. I could hear the lightness in the voices echoing back toward us.

As Mac stood in the back, sliding the new tents and fresh water forward, I spotted a police cruiser coming down the road.

“Hey, Frankie.” I nodded behind her. “Company.”

She turned, mumbled something under her breath and then stepped out in the road to greet them. I was glad I had decided against bringing Karma today.

This time, I could see the driver. He was older and taller than the other officer—Officer Cruz. Frankie’s hands were on her hips as she talked to him. She looked like she might be getting irritated. I walked over to see if I could help.

“Hello, officers.” I put on my friendliest smile and glanced at Frankie. Yeah, her face looked like a tomato. “Something we can do for y’all this morning?”

“Oh, hey, the cookie lady.” Officer Cruz leaned forward and smirked at me. “Well, I guess between you and Frankie, Pirate City is a thriving community.”

Sarcasm is one of my least favorite things in this world. It makes me very sugary. “Just doing what any human being would do, Officer Cruz.”

Frankie had her arms crossed now. “Hey, at least they’re out of sight. That’s what you want, right? No complaints from the rich folks downtown.”

I glanced behind us. Pops and Mac were standing there watching the exchange now, looking worried. Everyone else had disappeared.

“What, you mean, rich people like you?” The older officer laughed. “That’s a good one, Frankie.”

“Oh, by the way,” I put a steadying hand on Frankie’s arm as she opened her mouth. “Did y’all know that Harold Barber was at Pirate City last week with a gun? He robbed and assaulted them.”

“Robbed them?” Officer Cruz said. “Really? Well, no one filed a police report.”

The older officer just kept staring at me with those steel eyes, smiling. No empathy there. His nametag was visible now: Officer Hutchins. I decided to pull my trump card.

“Well, if y’all could just keep your eye out for him. I mean, after all, there is a murderer running loose.”

“A murderer?” Officer Hutchins gave off a healthy dose of indifference.

“Yeah. The person responsible for Mad Dog’s death.”

“The suicide?” Officer Hutchins blew out a little laugh.

“Oh, you haven’t heard? Turns out there was no alcohol in his system and he didn’t drown.” I lowered my voice. “He died from blunt force trauma to the head.”

In the span of silence that followed, I paid close attention to every twitch and emotion around the officers. There wasn’t much: no guilt, no sadness. Nothing.

“Well, that’s too bad.” Officer Hutchins shrugged at Frankie and smiled. “See ya around, Maslow.”

We watched them navigate the circle. Officer Cruz flicked a hand out the window as they drove back by us.

“Jerks.” Frankie glanced at me. “Hey, is that true? About Mad Dog?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. Will got the autopsy report back. Someone definitely killed him and threw him in the lake.”

“Christ on a cross.” She shook her head.

“You all right?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, fine. They’re just playing cop.” Frankie said, still distracted. “Hey, I gotta talk to Minnie for a sec. You can wait in the truck if you want.”

“Sure.” I closed the truck gate. “Hey, Mac, can I talk to you for a sec?”

As Frankie moved into the woods, Mac walked over. “What’s up?”

“The detective ask you about the suicide note yet? You know, the one found in the camp that Mad Dog supposedly wrote?”

Mac’s face darkened.

“Come on, Mac. We both know he was killed. The note was a fake. Now the police know it, too.”

“I know.” He rubbed at a dirty forehead. “So, let them figure it out.” He turned and walked away from me, his head low.

Sighing, I slipped back into the truck, started it and flipped on the air conditioner. My feet pushed at some papers lying on the floor mat. I picked them up and sorted through them. Receipts for repair work, a computer printout of directions. Nothing interesting. Glancing back down the path, I popped open the glove box. Ford books, some empty CD cases, more receipts for tires, gas, etc. Wait…what’s this? I pulled out a pink envelope that was shoved between the books. There was a card inside. I slipped it out quickly. On the front was a single rose in gold glitter. The inside had two words scrolled across in more glitter: I’m sorry

At the top, someone had written: Dear Maddy

I shoved the card back into the glove box and closed it just as Frankie reappeared from the woods.

Had to be from Vick, right? Was he sorry for choking her? Why hadn’t he given her the card? Maybe she wasn’t speaking to him, either.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

In between chatting with customers, ringing up sales and unpacking the new delivery on Monday, I spent the day on the internet trying to find Mariah Fowler, born on January 26th 2003. So far, my search took me to Myspace, find-a-grave, a geology forum and characteristics of a Capricorn. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Capricorn. Heavens. Willow, my middle sister, was a Capricorn. Her birthdays had always been full of delicious wintery themes, angel food coconut cake and homemade ice-cream. Would she even take my call this time around? Maybe I should go back for a visit, try to help them understand.

I sighed. Focus on one issue at a time, Darwin.

Sylvia appeared from the back with her white lab coat still pulled on over her snazzy lavender dress. I’d put money on the fact that she’s the only woman around grooming dogs in designer clothes and heels. “Kat is still drying. Mrs. Berry is not here to pick her up yet?”

“Nope. Not yet.” I clicked on one of the Myspace links. Maybe her mom had an account and mentioned her.

“Kat was extra nervous today, didn’t want her feet handled. You might want to sell Mrs. Berry some flower essence.”

“Okay.” I smiled to myself. Sylvia had come a long way in accepting the flower essence.

“You are still looking for the little girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe she should not know her father has died.”

I peered up into Sylvia’s concerned eyes. “I know. I’m not bringing her good news. But, imagine when she’s grown up and wonders why her father abandoned her? Wouldn’t that be harder to live with?”