Dirty Devil Read online

  Hilda was a woman who always got what she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to use her information to get it. That’s how her oldest daughter Cleo had finally found a husband.

  I didn’t like grocery shopping. It was something that had to be done out of necessity. Jack normally did it because it was a social event for him. He’d come and talk to everyone and get what we needed for the week, making what should have been a half-hour shopping trip into a marathon. I’d learned pretty quick to stay home and let him come by himself.

  I read the list Jack had texted me and tossed fruits and vegetables into the cart, not lingering in one spot too long in case someone thought it was an invitation to talk. I’d made good progress until I got to the bread aisle and had to maneuver around a pair of big feet that were planted in the middle of the aisle.

  I looked up, annoyed, and ran smack into Floyd Parker. I should’ve known my morning was too good to be true.

  I decided the smart thing to do was keep my mouth shut and move around him. Nothing good ever came from my encounters with Floyd, and Jack was too close to the election for me to do something to make headlines now. Not to mention Hilda Martin probably had her ear pressed up against the aisle next to us.

  I moved my cart to the left to veer around him, but he stepped in front of my path again.

  “Now, Jaye,” he said, putting his hand on my cart. “Surely you’re not going to pass by without saying hi to an old friend.”

  “Where?” I asked, looking around for whoever he could possibly be talking about.

  He chuckled good-naturedly, and chill bumps skittered down my spine.

  “You’re going to want to get your hand off my cart, Floyd.”

  “Come on now, you know we were more than friends at one point. There’s always so much tension between us. Every time we cross paths things heat up.” He rubbed his slightly crooked nose where I’d broken it several months back. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “We were never more than friends,” I said. “You were a drunken mistake not good enough to remember. But if you’ve got to get your jollies living in the past, you’re going to do it without me.”

  He laughed again, but it had an edge to it. “You always had a smart mouth. Do you ever wonder if this tension between us now is because we never finished what we started?”

  I had to stop and stare at him. My brain wasn’t processing the words that needed to come out of my mouth.

  “Have you been drinking? Do you want another broken nose?” I tried to move around him again.

  “I guess you heard I’m running for sheriff,” he said.

  “I heard it and then promptly forgot it,” I said. We were playing tug-of-war with the basket now, and I’d rolled one of the cart wheels over his foot.

  “I’ve got some friends in pretty high places,” he said. “Jack’s days of running this county are over.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were serious. You looked like one of those old gunslingers for a minute. I was waiting for your mustache to twirl.”

  “Bitch,” he said.

  “Oh, now, Floyd,” I said. “You’re going to hurt my feelings with that kind of talk. But let me let you in on a little secret. Most of the people you think are your friends in high places have already donated to Jack’s campaign. The people in this county aren’t stupid. They want someone who’s actually competent to keep them safe. Not a gossip columnist. But I’ll make sure we tell the governor you said hello next time we see him.”

  The vein in Floyd’s forehead bulged, and I realized I’d hit a nerve. He was sensitive about his title as a journalist, and wanted to be respected in his field.

  “I’d love to know how you tricked a man like Jack into marrying you,” he sneered. “I know it wasn’t because of what you can do on your back. But I guess money and power don’t necessarily mean good sense. But I remember where you came from, J.J. Graves. And I remember who your parents were. People in this town have a long memory. You think they’re not talking about you? You think we all don’t know there’s more to the story than what the FBI released to us when your house got blown to hell and back? Jack might be in a position to protect both your secrets, but I’m going to promise you this. I’m going to dig until I find something. I’m through being the nice guy.”

  I fluttered my eyelashes. “I think you meant to say asshole. Because you’ve never been a nice guy, and I’ve known you twenty years.”

  His smile was fierce, but I didn’t flinch. I wasn’t scared of him. And I’d never cared what anyone in town was saying behind my back. If I had, I would’ve moved a long time ago. I pushed my basket a little harder and the back wheel rolled over his toe.

  “Have a nice day, Dr. Graves,” he said as I walked away.

  I wanted to tell him to stick it where the sun didn’t shine, but I figured it would be front-page news the next day if I did.

  7

  I’d forgotten the ice cream. That was just something else I could add to the list of things I hated about Floyd.

  I’d let my anger get the best of me, but that was nothing new when it came to Floyd. I took the long way around town, trying to get rid of the mad before I went back home. I rolled down the windows and breathed in the fresh-cut grass from those who were out mowing their lawns. I turned onto Catherine of Aragon and passed the strip mall that was on the opposite side of the street from the funeral home.

  A couple of years ago it had been a sad piece of real estate, with only a laundromat occupying one of the rental spaces. Someone had bought it back at the beginning of the year, done all the repairs, and given it a fresh coat of paint. There was a sandwich place in the corner unit, one of those places that sold fancy kitchen stuff next to it, and there was a CrossFit gym next to that. The laundromat was still on the other corner unit, but it had received a face-lift along with everything else. The parking lot was full, mostly due to the Sunday morning CrossFit class.

  I didn’t notice the car parked in the driveway to the funeral home until I’d almost passed it. The car was sporty and expensive, and I didn’t recognize the emblem on the back, but I could appreciate a well-built machine. I saw a man standing under the portico, but I didn’t recognize him, so I decided to pull in and see if he needed help. I noticed whoever Jack had called to get rid of the tree limb that had fallen into my flower beds had already come to remove it.

  He’d been lost in thought, and his head jerked toward me when he heard my car door close.

  “Hi there,” I said. “I’m Dr. Graves. Is there something I can help you with?”

  His mouth parted like he was going to speak and then he closed it again. I didn’t close the distance between us just on the off chance he was a hatchet-wielding maniac.

  “Sorry,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “I was hoping it was open.”

  “We’re closed on Sundays. Have you lost someone, then?”

  “My father,” he said. “The police told me he was brought here yesterday for an autopsy.”

  “You’re John Donnelly’s son?” I asked, surprised. I decided to go with my gut. “Come on inside. You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

  I walked past him and up the ramp that led to the door off the kitchen, and I used my key. I looked over my shoulder to see if he was coming, and he followed behind me. He looked like a fish out of water. His clothes were expensive, and he had the air of a man who carried himself with authority. But he was young. Younger than I’d thought on first appearances. I’d have put him in his early twenties now that I could see his face up close.

  “You said your name was Dr. Graves?” he asked while I made the coffee. I got out the little serving tray like I did when I had clients meet with me about the death of a loved one. A hot drink had a way of putting people at ease, and it gave themselves something to do with their hands.

  “Yes, this is my place,” I said.

  “I thought I was mistaken at first. I couldn’t imagine why they’d do an au
topsy at a funeral home?”

  I smiled and put the tray on the island and invited him to take a seat on one of the barstools. He looked like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up in my kitchen, but he sat down anyway.

  He was a good-looking kid. Around six feet in height and his blond hair was styled in a cut that required more product than I’d probably ever used in my life. He was clean shaven and his eyes were dark brown, like his father’s.

  “I own the funeral home here in Bloody Mary,” I said. “But I’m also the coroner for the county. I have everything I need here to serve in both capacities. You said you were John’s son?”

  “Yes,” he said, shaking his head no when I pointed at the creamer. “I’m Michael. I don’t really know why I came. I haven’t even seen him in years. I guess I just wanted to make sure it was really him.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Even an estranged father is still your father.”

  “It shouldn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “He wasn’t a good father. He wasn’t even a good man. The police said he was murdered?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He was abducted late Wednesday evening, and he died sometime Thursday afternoon.”

  “He was kidnapped?” he asked, surprised. “I can’t see my dad letting anyone get the jump on him. He was a shark. You think they were holding out for a ransom?”

  “There’s no evidence we’ve found so far that ransom was ever asked for. Your father had been drinking, and someone hit him over the head on his way out of a bar and drove off with him in his Porsche.”

  Michael shook his head. “Now that’s not surprising. Dad always liked to drink. Loved it, in fact. He would’ve chosen a bottle of whiskey over his own kids any day of the week.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. All of us had to deal with the parental hand we were dealt. No wonder the world was so messed up.

  “How did he die?” he asked.

  “Cardiac arrest.” I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him the heart attack happened while he was being tortured. That information would come out eventually.

  “Is that a joke?”

  “Coroners don’t joke,” I said wryly. “Your father had some serious health issues. He was due at any time for a massive heart attack. Almost all of his arteries were more than ninety percent blocked. He also had a very aggressive form of lung cancer.”

  “So the killer could’ve just waited a few months for him to die of natural causes?” he asked. He hadn’t touched his coffee, but he’d kept his hands wrapped around the cup for warmth.

  “Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt him?” I asked.

  He snorted and actually smiled. “The better question would be who wouldn’t want to hurt him. I’d say anyone that spends any amount of time in his presence is probably a likely candidate.”

  “Kimmie?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “Maybe if he cut up his credit cards or stopped sending her on shopping sprees. But she’s too stupid to not get caught. I’d be more likely to believe it was José. There’s nothing my father did that José didn’t know about. He liked being in charge. My father wasn’t a very involved man unless it was one of his cases. José liked to think of the house and everything in it as his own personal property.”

  “You think your father would leave José anything in his will?” I asked.

  “Who knows what dad would do,” he said. “But my gut says no. Dad was a racist son of a bitch. Guys like José would always be seen as nothing more than a hired hand in Dad’s eyes.”

  “Anyone he worked with that might end up better off with your dad dead?”

  “Dad had a partner several years back, but they split the firm and each went solo. I’m sure he’s got a building full of law clerks and assistants who want to kill him every day.”

  “What was the partner’s name?” I asked.

  “Kevin Fischer. He’s my godfather.” Michael looked down and realized his cup was still full, so he took a deep drink and set it back in the saucer. I was sure it had gone cold by now, but he was polite and didn’t say so.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,” he said. “I didn’t know why I was coming here, or what I thought I could do. But it helped for you to tell me what happened. When can we get his body? We’d like to plan the funeral as soon as possible. My mom and Anna need closure.”

  “Anna?” I asked.

  “She was Dad’s first wife. My mom and her are pretty close. They kept the four of us kids together so we’d have some semblance of family. Anna’s kids are several years older than me and my sister, but it was a good arrangement for a time.”

  “It’ll probably be a few more days since it’s a homicide investigation, but I’ll call you as soon as he’s released.”

  “Thank you, again,” he said. “It’s good to know someone is looking for his killer. Even if he probably did deserve it.”

  “Nobody deserves that,” I said. “Not even your father.”

  It was at that moment I realized something. Jack and I hadn’t been working this case like we normally would have. We hadn’t been laser focused on the scene or suspects. Normally, at this point in the investigation, we would’ve been short on sleep and high on suspects. We would’ve been up early ruining people’s Sunday mornings by asking questions they weren’t comfortable answering. We were letting things slip through the cracks because somewhere in our minds, maybe we thought John Donnelly really had deserved what he’d gotten.

  By the time I drove past St. Paul’s, the last service had long let out, and Reverend Thomas was standing in his garden at the rectory. He watched me pass by, and raised a hand in acknowledgment, and I waved back, trying not to feel guilty for sleeping in with the rest of the heathens.

  I breathed a little easier when I turned onto Heresy and the stretch of road before home. It had been more than two hours since I’d left for the grocery store, so I wasn’t surprised to see Jack standing in the front yard when I pulled into the driveway. He was talking to someone in a white van, and I figured it was whoever he’d found to drop him off since he’d taken his unit to maintenance.

  It wasn’t until I got out of the car and headed over that I realized it was Doug Carver behind the wheel of the van. Which was a terrifying sight to behold. Doug was just a teenager. He was brilliant. But still a teenager.

  The side door of the van opened, and Ben Carver rolled out in his automatic wheelchair with a suitcase on his lap. This was also a terrifying sight to behold.

  “I told you I could do it myself,” Carver said.

  “He says that a lot,” Doug said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t even bother trying to help him.”

  “This is a surprise,” I said, coming up to stand beside Jack. Doug and Carver were pulling bags out of the van like it was moving day.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” I whispered to Jack.

  “I have no idea,” he said. “They just pulled up a few minutes ago. Said they came to help.”

  “It looks like they’re here to stay forever,” I said.

  Jack sighed. “Yeah, about that. Carver mentioned Michelle told him it’d be good to get out of the house for a few days, for his own safety.”

  “What about Doug?” I asked. “How’d he fall into this?”

  “Not sure,” Jack said. “But Doug’s mother probably needed just as much of a break as Michelle did. The Carver boys take a lot of energy.”

  “No worries,” Carver called out. “I can get my bags. I’m just in a wheelchair over here.”

  “I thought you didn’t want help,” Jack said, coming to take the bags.

  “Of course, I want help. I just don’t want you to ask me if I need help.” Carver turned to look at me. “There’s my favorite coroner. I thought you would’ve left Jack by now. You’re much too good for him. And if you live with Jack he makes you eat your brussels sprouts.”

  “I’ve been trying to talk him into getting a dog so I have som
eone to feed them to,” I said.

  I took a good look at Carver and was glad to see he looked more like his old self. Between the cuts and bruises, surgeries and pain killers, it had been hard to see him lying in a hospital bed month after month.

  Carver hadn’t been a big man before the accident, but seeing him in the wheelchair almost made him seem dwarfed somehow. He’d lost too much weight, and he was gaunt through the face and thin in the shoulders. His sandy hair was patchy where the hair had grown out from where they’d had to shave his head to release the pressure on his brain. One of his legs was in a brace all the way up to his hip, and I had no idea how he was sitting comfortably.

  I followed behind everyone as we made our way to the kitchen door instead of the front porch. It was the only entrance that Carver would be able to get his wheelchair through.

  “This place is a dump,” Carver said good-naturedly. “I thought y’all were remodeling?”

  “Jaye picked out the paint color,” Jack said.

  “The paint color I like,” Carver said. “She has excellent taste.”

  “I’m starving,” Doug said. “Got sandwich stuff?”

  “If you unload the groceries from the back of the car you’ll have everything you need,” I told Doug.

  “Awesome.”

  I tossed him my keys and he went back outside.

  “What’s the story with Doug?” I asked. “You don’t normally bring him to crime scene meetings.”

  “The colleges are on fall break, and his mother is losing her mind. He’s determined to make anything electronic in the house into an army of robots. My sister said she was trying to make a pot of coffee the other day and the whole thing got up and walked away. Scared her half to death.” Carver smiled. “But it’s totally cool. Could you imagine an army of kitchen appliances following your every command?”

  “Yeah, until they kill you in your sleep,” I said. “I’ll pass on the home robots.”