The Middle Finger of Fate (A Trailer Park Princess Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read online

  “You’ll probably want to call your boss now.” The officer slid the phone across the desk.

  I looked at the phone and frowned. This was all so wrong. Now I had to call Flo at Flo’s Bow Wow Barbers and tell her I was going to be late because I was in jail. And no matter how much I assured her I’d done nothing wrong, I was just a witness, she would automatically think I’d been busted. That’s what I would believe.

  I raised my chin. “You do it.”

  Walters raised his eyebrows again. “I’m sorry?”

  “You do it.” I pushed the phone back toward him. “Call for me, let them know I’m going to be late because I witnessed a possible crime and you need to ask me some questions.”

  He looked like he was thinking about it. “You really should handle it yourself.”

  “If I call, she’s going to think I’ve been arrested and I’m making up some line to cover it up.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  I shrugged. Why indeed.

  He frowned at me for a couple of seconds, then picked up the handset. “What’s the number?”

  I gave him the number to the Bow Wow Barbers and he punched it in. “Who do I ask for?”

  “Flo.”

  He handled it perfectly. Confident, courteous, in command, and yet not overbearing. I wish I could go to the police academy just to learn how they do that.

  He hung up and said, “No problem.”

  “Maybe next time I have a head cold you could call in sick for me. Last time she wasn’t terribly sympathetic.”

  He almost smiled. Then he bent his head over a piece of paper and got to work.

  About three lifetimes later Bobby arrived. He walked through the door and Walters jumped up. They stepped out into the hallway and mumble-mumble-mumbled to each other for a few minutes. I looked around the room for an escape. If I could somehow manage to make myself half an inch wide I could squeeze through the air conditioner vent, but that seemed unlikely since I couldn’t even squeeze myself into a size fourteen anymore.

  Bobby came in and sat down with an old man groan, which was a little weird because he was anything but an old man. He pushed some papers around for a few seconds as if this was just a normal day at the office and he had nothing pressing to get to. He laid his arms on the desk, clasped his hands together, and looked at me.

  “Okay Salem. Tell me why you were at that church.”

  “I had a meeting there this morning.”

  “A meeting with whom?”

  I lifted my chin. “My AA group.”

  “Your AA group.”

  It’s always a little awkward, telling people you’re an alcoholic. By the time you get to Alcoholics Anonymous you’re much more versed in telling people how you’re not an alcoholic. Then you say you’re going to AA and they get that uncomfortable, oh-that’s-great-but-now-I-have-to-look-away thing. So when I tell people I’m in AA, I automatically lift my chin and start thinking of what I’m going to say to fill the awkward pause after The Revelation.

  But Bobby didn’t look away. He just kept staring at me with that same unreadable look. “What time did you get there?”

  So that was that. Cat officially out of bag and we’re moving onward. “It was just before ten.” I couldn’t be entirely sure because the clock in my old car was busted.

  “Just before ten.”

  I nodded.

  Bobby asked a lot of questions about who I’d seen, what other cars were around, did I talk to anyone, did I know the girl. I didn’t have a lot of information to give him because pretty much the extent of my involvement was a lot of jumping up and down and yelping.

  I answered him as best I could, but I have to admit there was a part of me that was inappropriately studying him. You know how you idolize someone and then you see them years later and realize they weren’t anything special, just a regular person with normal faults? That was so not what I was feeling. In fact, Bobby seemed every bit as larger-than-life to me as he ever had. He still had that air of the supercool dude, confident, in charge, able to save old ladies and run down bad guys without ruffling his just-a-trifle-too-long hair.

  Bobby studied some papers on his desk and made a few notes. It took everything I had not to ask what he was writing down.

  Shouldn’t he have gotten gray hair and fat by now? I added the years up in my head. I was twenty-eight, so that would make him…thirty-five. I guess he wasn’t that much older than me after all. It had seemed like a lot when the seven years between us was fourth grade to twelfth grade.

  Bobby didn’t look older, though, just better. Those lines that bracketed his mouth were deeper, his neck was bigger around so his Adam’s apple no longer stuck out like someone had thrown a boomerang through the back of his neck. He was bigger everywhere, more solid and more there, somehow.

  I was bigger, too, unfortunately. I felt like Jabba the Hut spilling out of the chair and onto the floor.

  “So you walked up the sidewalk and what happened?”

  “I looked down and saw the body –”

  “Why did you look down?”

  His sudden question made me jump a little. “I – I don’t know. Don’t people just look down sometimes?”

  “If there’s a reason to.”

  Oh God. Was he saying I was a suspect? My heart began to race again and I felt my fingers clench together like they do when I really really want a drink.

  “Did you hear something that made you look down?”

  “No.” I didn’t think so.

  “See something? Some kind of movement out of the corner of your eye?”

  Did I? His intensity was making me nervous. I shook my head. “I don’t remember seeing anything. I just walked by and I looked down because I always look down there when I walk by.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Geez, Bobby, you’re making me crazy! Is there some law against looking down?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then stop it. I always look down at the bottom of those stairs because I’ve always wondered where the door at the bottom of the stairs goes to, that’s all.”

  “Then why didn’t you just say so?”

  “Because I found a dead body and now I’m at the police station and I’m completely freaked out and not thinking straight!” I took a deep breath and thought maybe I ought to lower my voice since I was on the verge of shrieking. I was almost out of my chair, too, so I scooted my Jabba self back.

  “Calm down. Go on,” Bobby said.

  But I was afraid to now. “That’s it. That’s all I have to say.”

  Bobby tapped a pen on his desk and looked at me.

  I tried to cross my legs but with my big thighs that’s kind of hard. I settled for crossing my ankles and raised my eyebrows at Bobby as if I could sit there and have a staring contest with him all day if he wanted to.

  “So you’re in AA.”

  “Yep.”

  He stood. I shot out of my chair and grabbed my purse. “We’re done then? Great. I have to get to work.”

  He stopped at the door and stepped aside so I could pass. “So how are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little softer.

  He wasn’t asking about my health and well-being, I knew that much. “A hundred and forty-seven days,” I said. “This time.”

  He nodded. “That’s good, Salem. That’s really good.” He squeezed my arm.

  I am so pathetic. For me, an arm squeeze and a solemn “that’s good” from Bobby Sloan is like what getting a combination Grammy/Oscar/Nobel Prize For Saving The World From Total Destruction would be for anyone else. I felt myself actually grow two inches taller the moment he said that. I mean, can anyone be so needy for praise?

  But I have to admit; getting Bobby’s approval was worth finding a dead body.

  He asked for my phone number, and for a crazy moment I thought he was asking me out, now that he knew I wouldn’t get drunk and scream at the waitress. Then I realized it was probably just so he could call me about the dead woman. H
ow shallow am I? There’s a family somewhere about to be devastated with tragic news and I’m wondering what I should wear on my date with Bobby. I felt really bad then.

  Walters drove me back to my car, and since he’d already told Flo I would be late I figured I had enough time to drive through Wendy’s for lunch. I was supposed to be on a diet, but after the trauma of discovering a dead body and having Bobby see all my fat, I decided I deserved a Big Classic with cheese and french fries.

  I ate in my car – as I do a lot – and thought about the poor woman at the bottom of the stairs. When I left the church nobody knew who she was, or even if it had been an accident. That bell tower was tall, forty or fifty feet. If someone fell out of it, all the way to one story below ground level, onto concrete stairs, that would probably be enough to do the job. But somehow I didn’t think it had been an accident. Not from the questions Bobby had asked me.

  Who was she? Did she know she was in danger? Did she know today might be the day? Or was she just going along, thinking about what she had to do, matching up the days till payday against the days until the electricity was cut off the way I always was?

  Nothing like contemplating sudden death to put you in touch with God. God’s the only thing that makes the whole gruesome dying thing a little better. I know some people who even say they actually look forward to it because they’re so excited about being with God. Myself, I’m a relatively new Christian and nowhere near that point yet. I’d still rather pretend I’m going to live forever. In theory, the idea of eternity in heaven singing God’s praises sounds really good, but when I realize I have to go through the death part to get there, I’m not quite so enamored with the idea.

  I was sitting at a red light about to put a french fry dipped in ketchup in my mouth when I was struck by a sudden gruesome image: dead fingers covered with blood. I stared at the fry until the car behind me honked and I realized the light had turned. I felt my stomach turn, not just because of the bloody-finger image but the whole scenario that morning, and dropped the fries back in the bag. I looked down at the burger with one bite gone and thought I was going to hurl right there. It was all I could do to wait till I got to Bow Wow Barbers and not toss it out on the street.

  I gulped down bile as I tossed the food and thought that if I found a dead body every day, maybe I could finally stick to a diet.

  Frank and Stump were waiting for me on the front deck when I rattled up. Frank is my neighbor and he babysits Stump for me when I can’t take her to work. Yes, I know. I could leave her at home like any normal person would. But Stump has separation issues that cause her to howl and screech bloody murder and then destroy something of mine if I leave her alone. I have to pay Frank in free dinners when he keeps her, but that’s okay. It’s better than wondering all day what she’s going to destroy.

  Stump wiggled her short black body and barked hard enough to raise herself onto her back feet when I got out of the car.

  “You’re not going to believe what happened today,” I said as I walked up. Stump flipped over onto her back so I could scratch her fat belly.

  Frank is a very skinny Hispanic guy with shaggy hair and a mustache like Sonny Bono’s in those old variety shows with Cher. “You killed somebody,” he said.

  I froze. “How did you know?”

  “It was on the news. How come you’re not in jail?” He didn’t seem particularly worried that he was in the company of a murderer, just curious that I was on the loose.

  “They said on the news that I killed somebody?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I think so.”

  Frank had lived in Texas all his life and, although he spoke English, his family spoke Spanish at home. English was his second language. Sometimes he got a little crossways in his phrasing. I hoped this was one of those times.

  “Someone said on the news that I’d killed someone? Or that I’d found a dead body? Because that’s what actually happened. I didn’t touch anyone. I swear.”

  “Maybe that was it, I can’t really remember. Hey, Stump ate a bug today.”

  “Stump.” I scratched her belly with both hands, which she loved. She wiggled against the deck and groaned. “You have to stop eating bugs. You’re going to get one that doesn’t agree with you.” I looked at Frank. “What channel was the story on?”

  “Eleven. Patrice Watson.”

  I don’t watch the news much, so I didn’t know who that was. I checked the clock and decided I’d better watch this, though, just to make sure Frank was mistaken.

  I took a quick shower to get the Airedale slobber off me and started dinner while Frank made himself comfortable in my cracked Naugahyde recliner. He turned on one of those crime scene detective shows and I almost burned dinner because I was comparing myself to the woman on the show who was the witness to the crime. Everyone was really sympathetic to her. No one accused her of killing anybody.

  After dinner I folded laundry and caught myself looking repeatedly out the window. I realized I was waiting for someone to come take me to jail. I filled Frank in on all the details and he looked sufficiently spooked.

  “That’s weird, man.” He shook his head and his hair flopped. “I wonder what happened to her.”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing all day.” I shuddered. I’d been going to that church for less than a year, but it was weird thinking there might be a killer lurking around there.

  The detective show went off and the news teaser came on.

  “A grisly discovery was made today at a downtown Lubbock church.”

  “That’s it!” Frank cried.

  “Ssshh!” I ran over and turned up the volume. I expected to see the church or maybe the police spokesman.

  Instead my picture flashed on the screen. “A woman was found dead today by this woman…”

  I didn’t hear anything after that. It wasn’t just any picture. It was my arrest photo from a year and a half ago. I stared at the picture and for the second time that day and said a word I’d promised I would never say again.

  Chapter Two

  “See, I told you,” Frank said. “She said you killed someone.”

  A commercial came on and I dragged my attention away from the television. “She didn’t say that. Did she?” Amidst the roar going on in my head I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was the lowest moment of my life had been captured and splashed across the television in a completely inappropriate way. Somehow being accused of murder was no longer at the top of my list of outrages.

  Why would they show an arrest photo from a year and a half ago? What did my last DUI have to do with the dead woman at the church?

  I dropped back into the chair, numb and for some reason scared out of my mind. Everyone has heard stories of people being convicted of crimes they didn’t commit. I’d only ever been convicted of things I was actually guilty of.

  The phone rang. It was my G-Ma.

  “You’re on television. You told me you quit drinking.”

  “I did.”

  “Well, the T.V. station says you’re in some kind of trouble. What did you do?”

  Normally I don’t get alarmed by anything G-Ma says because she tends to ignore minor details like facts and relies solely on impression, and that is always far to the left of reality. I was already freaking out and feeling guilty, even though I knew darned good and well I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “What channel are you watching?”

  “The one with the man who looks like Lee Harvey Oswald.”

  “That’s Eleven, the same one I’m watching. Will you do me a favor and flip over to Seven and record it for me?” Maybe it was just a Channel Eleven thing. If Seven had my mug shot too, I was going to grab Stump and flee the country.

  Thank goodness I’d finally taught G-Ma to work the DVR. That had only taken two years. “I’ll call you back in a few minutes, I want to see what they say on Channel Eleven.”

  “Wait till after sports. They’re going to interview the Cowboy’s new running back.”

&n
bsp; So on G-Ma’s list of priorities I was directly under the Dallas Cowboys. That wasn’t so bad considering her fervent devotion to the Cowboys. Lucky for me it was the preseason.

  The news came back on and I hung up. I had to sit through some junk about the city council meeting before they got to me. Or her, I mean.

  “A gruesome discovery was made this morning outside the basement of the First United Methodist Church. The body of 22-year-old Lucinda Cruz was found at the bottom of the basement stairs by this woman –” There she went again with the “this woman” thing, and my arrest photo flashed back on the screen.

  I tried to focus on what was being said, but pretty much all I could see was this woman. I looked…well, I looked like I’d just been arrested for driving under the influence. I looked strung-out and skanky, pale and washed out with an inch and a half of mascara under my eyes. I had been at the end of my ill-advised blonde phase, at the point when I’d quit bothering with petty details like dark roots and conditioner.

  The picture stayed behind the anchor for a few more seconds, then switched to one of a beautiful Hispanic girl with long black hair and lips that a model would pay good money for. She had chocolate brown eyes and smooth skin like I haven’t had since I was about five. Her mouth was open in a full laugh. She was breathtaking.

  The picture switched to a bald man with a mustache, the police department spokesman.

  “We’re obviously very early into the investigation, but we are treating this as a homicide.”

  I listened really hard and didn’t hear him say anything that sounded like “Salem Grimes – this woman! – is our prime suspect at this time.”

  Then the anchor went on to something about a car wreck on one of the farm-to-market roads. Something about the anchor’s voice was familiar, but I was too wrapped up in feeling humiliated and terrified to play where-do-I-know-her.

  “Did you catch that name? Lucinda something.”

  “Cruz.” Frank said it with the rolling “r.” Crrrrruz. I can’t do that.

  “Why was my picture up there?”

  Frank grunted. “Because you were this woman who found the body.”