Pit Perfect, page 5
For Smooshie, it felt longer, because she raced to the back door when I stood up and barked, her butt, not just her tail, wagging vigorously.
“I think someone needs to go out,” Parker said. Elvis perked his head up then stood and trotted to the door to stand with Smoosh. “Two someones.”
“It was nice of them to wait until the evening ended.”
“Yes,” Parker said. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “It was really nice of them.”
We put on our coats and let the dogs out. Parker’s covered back porch stretched to the end of his house. He had a wheelbarrow with remnants of hay near the door, two tubs of dog toys, and a baseball bat.
“Looking to start an all-dog team?” I asked as I picked up the bat. It was wooden, a real slugger, with a nicely hefty weight. I walked to the edge of the porch and gave it a swing. “Nice.”
“Wow, you handle that like a pro.”
“I played a little when I was younger.” Even Shifters and witches weren’t immune to the lure of sporty competitions. My size usually got me picked last for a team, but still, those warm summer days hitting balls and running bases were some of my best memories.
He took the bat from me. “You’ve got a nice swing.” He set it down next to the door. “I used to play too. I was scouted by a few colleges before I decided on the military. Now, I use it to scare off foxes and coyotes who come inside the fence.”
I knew a few foxes and coyotes back home who’d take real offense at having a bat shook at them. They were mostly jerks, so I wasn’t offended in the least. “I bet you get some scavengers over here.” Smooshie finished her business and the time was getting late. “I’ve had such a nice evening, Parker.”
“I hope we can do it again before you go back home.” Parker’s gaze made my belly flutter, and for a moment, I wanted him to kiss me.
No. No. Nope. I couldn’t ignore my uncle’s advice. I didn’t have enough experience around humans to be sure I could avoid revealing my true self. And Parker made me the most jittery.
“I’d love to hang out again,” I said.
Parker walked us through the house to the front door. With a final goodbye, Smooshie and I headed to the outdoor stairs that led to the garage.
* * * *
The high-pitched whimpering woke me from my restless sleep. I’d been tossing and turning since I hit the sheets a little after ten o’clock. I rolled over and grabbed my phone from the end table. The digital display revealed it was only 12:06 a.m. A wet tongue poked inside my ear, and I sat up. “Ugh, Smoosh. No wet willies, okay?”
She planted her paws on my chest and rested her head on top. She woofed softly. By the way she squirmed, I’d say she’d woken up with a full bladder.
I dressed quickly, the dog nudging me with her shoulder and whacking me with her tail the whole time. I smiled. It was really nice having someone to care for. I’d taken care of my younger brother for so long it had been strange to not have anyone to nurture anymore. His loss had created a hole so big, I’d never been able to fill it. Since meeting Smooshie, though, I’d felt needed again. I clipped her leash to her collar, and we headed out.
The gate to the backyard creaked as we went through. I locked it behind me, and I let Smooshie go. A bright quarter moon hung in the cloudless sky, its soft light making the snow look blue. A blast of bitter cold forced me to huddle into my coat. Smooshie trotted off, seemingly oblivious to the freezing temperature.
She sniffed around for a minute, then her head went up, and she took off toward the back fence. I saw her examining something near the chain link and then she started issuing high-pitched yips. I started trotting toward her making shushing noises. “You’re gonna wake up the entire block.”
Another gust of sharp wind chilled me to the bone, but the scent of blood—human blood—was what really froze me. “Smooshie,” I hissed. “Smooshie! Get over here.”
Smooshie returned to me, and I clipped her back on the leash. Keeping a firm hand on the leash, I moved forward.
From almost fifty feet away, I could make out a person-sized shape lying in the snow. I swallowed hard as my gorge rose. I smelled body waste mixed in with the coppery scent of blood. Smooshie whined, letting me know she’d scented it, too.
For a split second, I worried that the crumpled figure was Parker. My heart raced as adrenaline put my senses on high alert. As I soon as I got close enough, I realized the body was too small to be Parker.
New girl in town finds the corpse of town hag. Panic welled inside me. Crap. Crap. Carp. What was it with me and death? I’d driven 700 miles to get away from murderers and their victims, and here I was on Day One, faced with a deceased human.
I wanted to run the other way, but Haze would be ashamed of me if I acted like a Chicken McChickenpants.
The victim was planted face down in the freezing white powder, her yellow-blonde hair fanned out like wispy octopus tentacles across the blood-stained snow.
My stomach soured.
Hints of rose and woody fragrance filtered through the more odious aromas. I recognized the scent. Without seeing the dead woman’s face, I knew this was Katherine Kapersky, scourge of Moonrise, Missouri.
“Stay put,” I told Smooshie, and, surprisingly, she listened. I took off a glove and shoved it in my pocket. The light stench of sweet, decomposing flesh, even at this early stage, told me she was dead. Still, I felt for a pulse. Nothing. I could still feel the cold sponginess of her skin on my fingertips even after I stopped touching her.
I inhaled deeply to see if I could catch any other scent. Beneath her cloying perfume, I detected the faint whiff of beef liver and onions, some kind of alcohol, cloves, and mint. Gently, I turned her head toward me. I didn’t want to disturb evidence, but I wanted to get a better whiff of the liquor on her breath. It was familiar, but I didn’t know why. Maybe a gin of some kind?
My gaze dropped to the right side of her face. There was a weird bruising pattern, three circular bruises, on her jaw. I was tempted to turn her head the other way, but I’d already messed with the crime scene enough.
I noticed then that Katherine wasn’t wearing gloves. It was below freezing outside. Two broken nails on her right hand marred her perfect manicure.
I wished I could shift into my cougar form. My non-animal form had better senses than a human, but my cat form was even better at discerning individual scents. However, I wasn’t in Paradise Falls anymore.
Smooshie put her nose to the dead woman’s wrist, and I gently tugged her back.
The light from Parker’s back porch came on. “What’s going on out here?” he asked loudly.
Shoot. Oh, hi, Parker. Smooshie needed to pee and by the way, ding, dong, the witch Katherine Kapersky is dead…in your backyard. Surprise!
Chapter 6
I’d been around death enough that I didn’t panic. I decided to call in the Cavalry. I tightened my grip on Smooshie’s leash, intending to return to the house, but a silvery glint next to the body caught my eye. I squatted for a better look.
Mostly buried in the snow, the edge of the object gleamed. I put on my glove and picked up the item. It was an alligator clip. I’d found several in my brother’s room after he died, along with a few mostly smoked marijuana cigarettes, aka roaches, and a one-hitter, its sides thick with pot resin. I’d been aware of his drug use, but he’d been an adult, and he was allowed to make his own choices.
I sniffed the clip. No dank earthy smell. Huh. I expected to get at least a vague marijuana scent, but there was nothing.
Was this important to Katherine’s death? Or had some kid dropped it back here? I couldn’t be sure, so I dropped it back where I’d found it.
“Hey!” Parker stood at the edge of his porch holding his bat. “Who’s back there?”
“It’s me,” I yelled. “Lily.”
He jogged out to Smooshie and me, his boots loosely laced and his jacket unbuttoned. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t freak out.”
His expression turned wary. “When people say don’t freak out, it’s because there’s something to freak out about.”
“I can’t argue with your logic.” I stepped back and turned, pointing to the corpse.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse, his breath quickening to a pant. Elvis nudged his big head under Parker’s hand, and I heard Parker’s breathing almost immediately slow down. The dog had an unbelievable calming effect on his friend. “Please don’t tell me she was mauled by dogs.”
“I really don’t think a pit bull can wield a blunt object. Her head looks like a burst melon.”
He paled. Elvis nudged him again.
“Sorry,” I said. “That was too graphic.”
“No. It’s okay. I’ve seen worse.” He glanced at Katherine’s corpse. “I thought I’d gotten away from death after I left Afghanistan. But here it is in my own backyard.”
“I’m sorry.” I waited a beat. “I don’t have my cell phone. Do you?”
Parker shook his head. “I’ll call nine-one-one from the house.”
“Okay.” I handed him Smooshie’s leash. “You take the dogs inside, and I’ll wait with the body.”
Parker’s relief was almost palpable. I couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors he’d witnessed as a soldier, or how those memories continued to haunt and hurt him.
Fifteen minutes later, three police cars and one volunteer firefighter truck parked along the sidewalk in front of Parker’s place. They had come in sirens blaring, and I could see house lights going on down the street.
The first person on the scene introduced himself as Sheriff Mike Avery, a burly man with super short salt-and-pepper hair. He had deep squint lines around his eyes, full-on crevices in his forehead, and lips that dropped into a frown. He smelled like French fries, strawberry ice cream, malt, and…kale chips. He wore a green ball cap with Sheriff embroidered across the front and law enforcement emblems decorating the bill. It matched his green uniform pants. He pulled a pen and small notebook from the pocket of his black winter coat.
“Miss Masters…”
“Mason,” I corrected him. “Mason.”
“Yes,” he said, his mouth puckering as if he’d eaten something sour. “What were you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
I resisted the urge to say, “I was really hoping to find a dead body. And look, I found a doozy.” Instead, I said, “I’d come out with Smooshie—”
“Who is Smooshie?” he interrupted, his voice suspicious.
“She’s my dog,” I said, surprising myself with how easy it was to stake my claim. I’d barely known her a day, but I already felt like she’d always been mine.
He made a tight-lipped “uh-huh” noise. “So you brought the dog out here for what purpose?”
I stared at him, but his serious gaze never wavered. Once again, I found myself biting my tongue to prevent a sarcastic comment. I sighed. “She needed to pee. Maybe poop. I don’t know which.”
“Uh-huh.” Avery’s heavy brows furrowed, two hairy commas highlighting deep-set eyes. I think his default expression must be set on “disapproval.” He scribbled in his notebook. What clue could he possibly derive from a dog’s bathroom habits? Did he plan to question my dog about doing Number One or Number Two?
I looked across the yard at Parker, who was being interviewed by another police officer. Parker had his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed with anger, his body bristling with annoyance. I wanted to go to him, to reassure him, but that was stupid. Just like the dog and this town, I barely knew the man. One meal didn’t make us close. Hell, it didn’t even make us friends.
“Miss Mason.” I heard my name and a strident tapping. Sheriff Avery was tapping his pen against his notepad. When I refocused my attention on him, he looked at me then looked at Parker then back to me. “What is your relationship with Parker Knowles?”
“So far, he’s given me temporary shelter and made me the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”
“Uh-huh.” He flipped a page and then I watched the pen scratch across the paper.
“Do you know how to spell spaghetti?” I asked. I rose up on my tiptoes and tried to get a look at his notes.
He moved back, clucking his tongue. “You don’t want to be charged with obstruction of justice, do you?”
My shoulders slumped. “What else do you need to know?”
“Are you sure Parker was in the house when you discovered Mrs. Kapersky?”
“Well, he wasn’t in the backyard. It was just Smooshie and me.” I jabbed a thumb at the body behind me. “And her.”
The sheriff stared a hole right through me. “And you saw Parker with the bat?”
Suddenly wary, I nodded. Confirming that I’d seen him with the bat felt somehow like a betrayal.
“Are we almost done?” I asked. “I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”
“You seem in an awful hurry to get rid of me, Miss Mason.”
Hell, yeah, I do. “If I stay out here much longer, you’ll have a second body on your hands. It’s twenty-five degrees outside, and I’m freezing.”
“Uh-huh.”
He put away the pen and notebook. “If you decide to move elsewhere in town, update my office with your new address. And Miss Mason…” He wrinkled his nose at me and sniffed. “Don’t leave town.”
“Wait. What? You think I’m a suspect?” I gaped at him. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” Turning on the heel of his shiny, black boot, Sheriff Avery joined his deputy and Parker on the back porch. A man wearing a windbreaker over his winter coat that said “Coroner,” approached me. I’d seen him poking around the body when the sheriff had pulled me aside. I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. He had blond hair, light-brown eyes, and his frame was tall and thin. His black-rimmed glasses didn’t fit well, and he kept adjusting them on his nose.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Pretty good, especially since I’m not the one who’s dead.”
He flashed a tepid smile. “It’s unsettling to see a corpse.”
I didn’t tell him this wasn’t my first crime scene. “Yeah, it’s awful.” I noticed then that he looked a little green. “You all right?”
He swallowed. Hard. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing dead bodies.” He offered me a gloved hand. We shook. “I’m Tom Jones.”
“Lily Mason,” I said. “Tom Jones. Like the guy from Henry Fielding’s novel.”
“I usually get people naming the singer.” He smiled, and it made me reassess his age. Maybe late twenties. “I like that you went for the classic.”
“Thanks,” I said. Tom the Coroner seemed like a decent guy. I couldn’t detect any deceit in his scent, so I took a chance. “Did you notice the bruising on her face? It was weird.”
“Bruising?”
“Three circular contusions, about an inch in diameter each on her right cheek, and they were blue.” He had a blank expression, so I added, “The blue bruises means they happened a couple of hours before she died. Newer bruises are red.”
He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “It was hard to get past all the blood on the back of her head.”
Were all human doctors squeamish, or was it just him? It seemed an odd occupation to have if the sight of blood made you puke. “What is your medical background, Tom?”
“I’m an orthodontist,” he answered.
A doctor for teeth? Really? I doubted Katherine died of explosive gingivitis. “So you’re a dentist?”
“Orthodontist,” he corrected.
“What’s the difference?” I asked with genuine curiosity. Shifters didn’t need dentists, usually, since we didn’t get cavities. The occasional fight might cost us a tooth, but we had the ability to grow them back. If we didn’t want to wait on nature, a witch healer could hurry things along.
“It’s like the difference between a doctor who is a general practitioner and an endocrinologist. It’s just a matter of specialty. Lots of braces and some cosmetic dentistry, though I do see regular patients as well.”
Sooo, a dentist. “You’re an orthodontist, and you’re the coroner?”
“It’s an elected position.”
That explained it. Sorta. Not really. Humans were strange. Why would someone without an M.D. want to become a coroner? And why did humans vote on who got to do it? I didn’t know how Haze or Uncle Buzz managed to assimilate in this upside-down, inside-out world.
“Don’t worry. I’m sending Mrs. Kaspersky to a state-certified medical examiner.” He chewed the left side of his lower lip. “Are you a doctor?”
“Gosh, no.”
“A nurse?”
“I like to read a lot.” I’d read anatomy and physiology books, the Physician’s Desk Reference about pharmacology, and every differential diagnostic book I could get my hands on. My senior year, I’d been accepted to Iowa University, where I’d planned to get my premed degree. My parents’ deaths had put an abrupt stop to my plans.
“I think she might have gotten into a physical fight. Maybe someone grabbed her face.” I thought about how far back on the jaw the bruises were and looked at my own hands. “Someone strong enough to leave marks.”
“Like Parker?”
I gave Tom a hard stare. “Parker had nothing to do with this.”
He seemed a little taken aback by my assertion. “He’s got military training. And everyone knows that he and Katherine had an ongoing dispute. No offense, but you haven’t been in town long enough to make a judgment call.”
I bristled. I was a Shifter and a witch, and my instincts were far better than his. “Are you investigating Parker?”
“Not me. My job is to decide if an investigation is warranted. And it is. My opinion is that this is a suspicious death.” Tom eyed me. “And I think Parker had every reason in the world to beat Katherine to death.”
Chapter 7
I tossed and turned for a couple of hours. Not even Smooshie’s seesaw snores could lull me to sleep. I snuggled against her warm fur, glad that I didn’t have to be in a strange place and a strange bed alone. I’d been so excited earlier. Moonrise had really started to feel like an adventure. Now it felt like a nightmare.
