Dead Man's Carve (A Tickled to Death Mystery Book 1) Page 3

  My glance met intensely steel-blue eyes. The kind that weren’t windows to the soul. They were completely unreadable.

  “I guess this leg is a life saver after all.” He stood and picked me up. Holding me tightly against him, and I couldn’t help but notice his chest felt stronger than the metal leg supporting our weight. Maybe his pecs were sculpted of steel, like his eyes. Maybe he was the bionic man.

  No. Despite the granite hard chest under my cheek, I knew he was human by the warmth of his body and the strong, steady beat of his heart. But without his prosthetic leg, I’d be a dead woman washed down the mountainside like a piece of driftwood.

  I loved that leg.

  Chapter Four

  For the second time that day I woke up next to a warm body — and whiskers. Heart catapulting into overdrive, I jumped from my bed, instinctively clutching the sheet, which nearly knocked me to the floor when it caught at the foot of the mattress.

  Bogart stared at me. His eyes spoke for him, “Chill, babe. We’ve been here done this.”

  A heavy sigh of relief escaped through my lips.

  “Would you rather it be me warming your bed?” A man’s deep voice sent my heart racing for cover once again, and as I spun toward him, my legs twirled in the sheet still attached to my bed.

  Standing in the doorway with his frame nearly taking up the entire space, was the man who pulled me out of the river — with his prosthetic leg. My eyes traveled the length of him. His plain grey t-shirt hugged hard-earned muscles. Slender fingers firmly gripped my husband’s favorite coffee mug, steaming with the deliciously warm scent of hot chocolate. His jeans hung low on lean hips, covering his life preserving limb. My gaze snagged to a stop at his knees. I couldn’t detect the prosthetic.

  “Yep, that’s the detachable leg that saved you.”

  Heat raced to my face, threatening to take over my entire body despite the chill that still ran through me. I quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if I dreamed it or not.” Then I quickly asked, “How did you find my house?”

  He stared, returning the perusal I’d so blatantly delivered, as he stepped forward and set the oversized coffee mug on the nightstand. The silence stretched between us and my grip tightened around the corners of the sheet. I yanked at the bottom swath, unintentionally exposing my legs up to my thighs.

  He backed up toward the doorway, a safe distance away. “Your dog. I believed you called him Mr. Bogart?” His eyebrow lifted quizzically and I nodded. “He led me here.”

  “Where are my clothes?” I blurted out.

  “I couldn’t carry you and them. I had to leave them at the bridge.”

  The thought of my hubby’s coat laying out there for anyone and his brother to steal, made my heart bottom out.

  “I’m sorry if they meant something to you … or you had something in the pockets … I kind of had my hands full.”

  His expression was completely unreadable, but I got the impression this stranger could see and understand the pain coursing through my system more than most of the people I’d known my entire life.

  I cleared my throat.

  With one last pull, the sheet came free from the mattress. I took a step forward in our bizarre, cautious dance, trying to find a comfortable distance between my near nakedness, and a strange hero. Picking up the mug, I breathed in the fresh, chocolaty scent and watched the dollop of whip cream melting into my favorite drink. I retreated to my safe spot, where I pretended to be secure with his decision to leave my clothes behind.

  And take up space in my bedroom.

  “It’s fine. I just didn’t want anyone in town to find them and worry about me.” I lied and took a sip of the heavenly warmth, aware of his watchful eye. “Mmmm. This is wonderful. Thank you.” I took a full gulp, let the warmth slide down my throat, and tried to figure out how to thank him for saving my stupid butt from drowning. “Thank you for pulling me out, Mr....”

  “Stone.” He turned and headed down the hall, warning me on his way out. “Next time there’s a stranger in your house, you might want to think twice before taking a drink of the beverage he offers you. You don’t know what I could be capable of.”

  Staring down at the hot chocolate in my hand, I listened to his footsteps retreating down the stairway, the slightest hitch in his step the only sign of his disability.

  Bogart ran after him. “Bogart!” I headed for the stairs, hot chocolate spilling a brown trail down the pristine white cotton sheet I clutched to my chest. I reached the top of the steps in time to see Bogart stumble and skid to a halt at the bottom.

  “No, boy. You need to stay.” Stone’s hand reached down and patted my dog’s head as he whimpered his desire to leave with the stranger. Then he looked up at me one last time. “Keep your dog inside for a while. He obviously knows how to find trouble.”

  Stone disappeared from view, and a moment later the bell rang on the front door of the shop jingled as it opened and closed. Mister-turn-an-uncomfortable-situation-into-a-scary-one was gone.

  I returned to my bedroom, the sheet flowing behind me, then set down the coffee mug, wondering if I should purge the big gulp I’d taken. I quickly grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt from my dresser and pulled them on over my still-damp bra and panties. Staggering down the stairs on wobbly legs, I wondered if my drink had been drugged or my imagination was getting away from me. My inspection of the back door revealed the dead bolt to be thrown and I cautiously peeked into my darkened shop. The hum of the furnace reverberated through the store while my heart tried to beat any poisons out of my gut.

  Was Stone dangerous? I didn’t know him, couldn’t read him. At least not like he could read me. Clearly, Mr. Bogart was at ease with him. But Bogart was also a stranger. What if Bogart was Stone’s dog and the whole thing was an elaborate set-up?

  Eyeing the dog with suspicion, a caption for the local newspaper flashed in my head, Local Carver Killed at the Hands of a Stranger.

  I grabbed one of my hand-carved canes from an umbrella stand and proceeded to check my shop. I couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of my heart as I crouched on shaky knees and searched the store. Each shelf had me more frightened than the last. My rows of Santas looked more like Satans than loving, giving spirits of Christmas. Tree sprites appeared angry and mean rather than mischievous and spirited, and I swore the large chainsaw carved bear my dad had made was ready to attack.

  I finally reached the front counter and took a deep, silent breath before peering around the corner. Warm, wet goo slapped my face. I stumbled back, landing hard on my butt, yet somehow I still maintained my cane ready to whack my assailant. Bulging eyes gazed back at me. Squirming hind quarters begged me to play.

  Bogart. The ridiculously silly mutt waited for me to make the next move. Not the conspirator I’d fabricated in my mind.

  I laughed, picked myself up off the floor and patted his head. The front door was locked but not dead bolted. I slid the lock home and looked down the street for the spooky Mr. Stone.

  Bob’s Books and Susie’s Salon were opening for the day, while a few customers waited in front of Joe’s Grab Shack to get their hands on the old man’s famous berry preserves. Not a single, tall, attractive man was ambling through town attacking unsuspecting women.

  Mr. Stone was gone.

  And I was late opening my shop. But something else ranked first on my agenda: retrieving my husband’s coat before some conscientious citizen picked it up and threw it away. At the back door, I shoved my feet into my Nikes without untying them, threw on my coat and opened the door, only to be knocked out of the way by Mr. Bogart, who I’d intended to leave behind.

  “Bogart!” I yelled to deaf ears. The dog was on a mission and I had my own agenda. I sighed. “If that’s what you want, I can’t stop you.”

  Making my way down to the creek, I became aware of the distance Stone had carried me. Dead weight on one leg. I’d known he was muscular, but seriously, why carry me home when he could have taken a m
uch shorter route up to Main Street and gotten help? Granted it would have been absolutely, freaking humiliating to wake up in the town’s square, wearing only my bra and panties, while the county residents gathered around me. The thought made my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” I told myself and no one in particular.

  Bogart barked in the distance, making me hope he didn’t scare up another moose, porcupine, or God forbid, skunk. That’s all I needed.

  The sound of the water rushing and the cool mist made my whole body shake instead of shiver. My favorite path and footbridge had suddenly lost their appeal. I hoped the apprehension was only temporary. Because the experience of being swallowed whole by that roaring creek would live with me forever.

  I reached the bridge and saw my clothes lying in the middle. Wet and twisted, they reminded me of the homeless — lost in the midst of civilization — uncaring about the world around them, depressed in their solitude.

  I reached for my hubby’s coat and froze. A jagged pattern cut up the middle from the bottom to the neck line, Jacob’s Forest Ranger jacket lie battered and lifeless. I slowly traced the cut with my fingers, feeling the rough edges that were beyond repair, tear at my heart. I was lost and alone. Again.

  Bogart barked from the opposite edge of the bridge, his voice muffled from the stick in his mouth.

  “I’m coming, boy.” I said as I carefully bundled the clothes and tucked them under my arm. My thoughts, however, never left the pain of being left behind.

  “Arrrg!” Bogart jumped and flung his head back, throwing his stick across the planks of the bridge. With a wobbled bounce, it rolled its way toward me and its short dark length began taking form.

  White dress shirt, black patent leather shoes and a midnight black tux on a groom with a loving twinkle in his eye. His face and shirt, stained with dark splatter, no longer held the look of elegance it had when I packaged him up yesterday. Bending over, I tried not to let the additional pain of my art holding so little meaning to Ryan, creep into my soul.

  I’d had faith in him as a man. To stand up to his friend, stand up for his bride, to be honest and caring. Just like Jacob.

  My composure crumbled as my fingers touched the northern basswood I’d slaved over. A tear trickled down my cheek and I stared at my groom.

  His chest indented from Bogart’s teeth, his clothing smeared with mud and his shirt speckled with — I took a closer look.

  Blood stained the front of his neckline.

  “Arrrg!’ Bogart leapt into the air for my groom. I snatched him back before he could get his mouth anywhere near my man.

  “Where’d you find this boy?” I asked the dog in front of me. “Where’d you get it?”

  “Arrrg, arrrg!” Bogart took off at a run, with me close behind. Not wanting to think about what I’d find, I focused on my breathing, my rickety legs and the bouncing dog in front of me.

  We ran along the stream in the opposite direction from where I’d gone for a swim a couple hours earlier. Bogart’s nose up in the air, he headed toward the railroad tracks a short distance from the bridge. Out of breath, I suddenly knew time wasn’t on our side, and I no longer wanted to follow Bogart. The woods were quiet, almost somber in their silence. The creek’s voice whispered in my ear and I knew something was wrong.

  So wrong that the peaceful calm of the forest shuddered.

  Bogart came to a halt, and my pace slowed with foreboding. “Come on boy,” I whispered, “let’s go home.”

  He lay down and whimpered. Big round head between his paws, he cried with despair as he peered back at me and then looked toward something on the other side of the railroad tracks.

  My hand fisted around the carved groom, the cut of his jaw jabbing at my palm as I clung to Jacob’s jacket. Slowly I approached Bogart and followed his gaze.

  My faith in the man who had been my customer the day before was restored. He had been good, honest and decent. But now he resembled my clothing on the bridge, a twisted mangled mass on the opposite side of the tracks. His face, almost completely untouched, looked lifelessly to the heavens. Another groom in my life was gone before the big day arrived.

  Chapter Five

  “What were you doing along the tracks?” The monotone question spoke volumes about the stout officer standing in front of me. I wasn’t sure if he practiced the technique to sound seasoned, or if he couldn’t care less about the yellow plastic blanket protecting Ryan’s body from the elements. Either way, he had the personality of a rock.

  “My dog brought me a figurine I’d carved for Ryan. Then he led me to … to his body.”

  “How well did you know the deceased?” Not a hint of compassion crossed the face glued to mini-notepad. My blood began to heat.

  Wasn’t he supposed to look closely at my eyes? What if I’d killed Ryan? How would he be able to discern my innocence from the lies of a pathological killer if he didn’t establish some kind of eye contact?

  “I’ve only met him a couple times. Most of our communication was over the phone. He placed a special order a few weeks ago for a cake topper for his wedding cake.” Grief stood on my chest, making my breathing erratic. Another bride made a widow before her wedding day. Clinging to Jacob’s wet, cut-up jacket, I moved away to sit on a fallen tree before my legs collapsed underneath me.

  “And you know without a doubt that is Ryan Heart’s body?”

  I suddenly realized this cop paid more attention than I’d thought. He’d shuffled across the forest floor covered with leaves, twigs and pine needles, without making a sound. And now he stood above me, eyes boring into my personal depths.

  “Y…yes, I’m sure.” A vision of Ryan swiping his debit card through my credit card scanner clouded my thoughts. “He had a wallet on him yesterday when he was in my store. Didn’t you find it?”

  “We won’t remove it until we get the body to the morgue.”

  A police SUV marked with railroad police insignia pulled up next to Officer Friendly’s vehicle near the path. He moved to block my line of sight, but the sound of two doors slamming announced the arrival of more uniforms to the party.

  Ignoring the new arrivals, the officer asked, “What time did you leave your house this morning?”

  “I need through!” A familiar voice echoed through the trees. No longer flirty and boisterous, his pain sliced through my interview.

  “Steve.”

  The officer’s brow rose in question, but I ignored him and peered around his legs. Fear lined Steve’s face as he tried to get past the two officers blocking his view. He froze when he saw me. In his gaze, a desperate plea for me to deny the truth. But I couldn’t. And in that moment, I saw love between friends destroyed. Steve shook his head back and forth. He stumbled backwards, as if he could escape the reality smacking us both in the face. His eyes never left mine. Through tears pooling and spilling down my cheeks, I witnessed overwhelming grief sink into the heart of Ryan’s best friend.

  Being left behind sucked beyond anything I could describe. And I didn’t know how to help Steve any more than I knew how to help myself.

  My silence was all the confirmation his stomach needed. I watched helplessly as Steve turned away from the officer and spewed his sorrow across the ground, his digestive system unable to process what his mind was telling him.

  My interrogator asked the question again. “What time did you leave your house this morning?”

  I struggled to answer, his question hanging in the air like a thick fog. “Uhm, about ten-twenty, I think.” Taking a deep breath, I prayed for composure. Mr. Bogart whined next to me and I instinctually reached down and scratched his head.

  The cop casually watched Steve’s display and asked, “Is that the man who came into the store with Mr. Heart?”

  I wiped my eyes with my sleeve before answering. “Yeah, Steve was going to be Ryan’s best man in his wedding.” I looked at the paper bag, swaying from the officer’s hand, barely weighted with my artwork.
When I’d stupidly asked why he didn’t put it in a plastic bag, I learned that items soaked in body fluid were bagged in paper. I shuddered at the memory.

  The groom was in the bag. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so tragic.

  “I need to talk to him. He may have been the last person to see Mr. Heart. Thank you for your help today, Ms. Dust. A detective may want to contact you, but for now you can leave.” I stood up, and he handed me his card. I patted my leg for Bogart to follow and he obeyed like he’d been my dog for years.

  Ryan’s body lay waiting for the Medical Examiner’s office to pick up his remains. The officer waited for Steve to stop littering the woods with the contents of his stomach, and I waited for no one as I headed home, the usually peaceful walk broken by my chattering teeth and troubled thoughts.

  What had happened to the two men after I’d locked my door and gone to bed? Who was going to tell Missy her husband-to-be had left her a widow? My Dad had been the one to break the news to me. He’d been my rock ever since, and the driving force that kept me going when I wanted to close the doors on all my dreams for good.

  I approached my back porch, completely lost in my thoughts just as Mayor Bob rounded the corner of my house next to my parking lot. Looking over his shoulder, Bob would have belly-bounced me like a bumper car if I hadn’t side-stepped his protruding tummy and sent him into a skittering stop.

  “Bob!”

  “Oh — geez, Rilee.” His hand quickly slid into his pocket. “I was just coming to see you.” Bob’s furtive glance behind him sent a second dose of unease throughout my system.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Wiping his brow with a gray handkerchief, Bob looked back at the parking lot one more time. “I saw the SUV still parked in your lot from yesterday, and got worried about you. Nothing good comes from cars spending the night in your parking lot. Are you okay?”

  “One of my customers is dead. The one we saw go into the bar.” I waited for a cheer, since there was one less patron from Woody’s to pollute our town. Or maybe a shocked response that someone had actually died.