Dooley Is Dead Page 4

  Whoa, what was this about? “I don’t get it. I assumed you and the bride were best friends?”

  “Not hardly.” Ginny startled when the Davidson exit came up suddenly. She veered to the right and pulled off the interstate seconds before a barreling semi crawled up their rear end. “Jesus, where the hell are we? What are all those condos doing here, and that Hilton Hotel? This exit used to be a hill covered in wildflowers.”

  Diana grabbed the armrest and hung on as Ginny skidded into the first of two new traffic circles. “I live in one of those new condos on the lakeside, and my office is right over there. Want to drop me off?”

  “Too late, you’re comin’ with me.” Ginny squinted skyward at the new private school to their left. “This little town has delusions of grandeur,” she said.

  “So why did you come to Lori’s wedding?”

  Diana’s young companion’s face darkened. “I came to give the groom a really hard time. Used to date the dude.”

  “No kidding?” Now this was an interesting twist. Obviously Matthew’s daughter had some issues with her ex boyfriend’s marriage. “What’s the guy’s name?”

  Ginny expelled a bored sigh, dug into her purse, and retrieved a pack of gum. After punching out two pieces from their blister foils, she offered one to Diana.

  “No thanks.”

  Ginny tucked the gum back in her purse and extracted a compact. She flipped it open to inspect her face, wiped sleep from the corner of one eye, and then rubbed her lips together. “His name is Trevor. We went all through school together.”

  “So you’ve kept in touch?”

  Ginny turned right on Main Street and they navigated through all three blocks of the little town, with old-fashioned storefronts on the right--- including a village store and a soda shop--- and on the left, a community green and library. The chimes from the Davidson College clock tower told Diana it was 11 AM.

  “At least this hasn’t changed.” Ginny smirked. “Heaven forbid that downtown Davidson should move into the Twenty-First Century.”

  Ginny was a hard gal to please. She hated progress, but scorned retro. “Where exactly does Lori Fowler live?”

  “Map Quest puts her in some new development called Highland Gardens. Do you know where that is, Diana?”

  “You bet, turn left right now.” They moved up Concord road, passed the campus at a sedate twenty miles per hour. They made another left on Shepherd’s Road and crossed back into Iredell County. Highland Gardens was built on one of several large farms that had been annexed by the town of Davidson. The farmers had considered it an illegal “land grab,” but the new residents loved having a toney Davidson address. The whole scandal had resulted in murder and mayhem, so Diana remembered it well.

  “I know Highland Gardens by heart, so I’ll guide you to Lori’s front door,” Diana said. Indeed the new neighborhood was a cash cow for Realtors, and before the recession, Diana had made a decent living selling those upscale single-family homes.

  She directed Ginny to an address across from the golf course, with a scenic view of the pond. “Why don’t you pull into her drive and park behind that Jeep?” Diana suggested.

  Suddenly Ginny’s face blanched dead white, in ghostly contrast to her purple lipstick and Goth eyeliner. Her long fingers trembled on the steering wheel.

  “What’s wrong? Do you recognize that car?” Diana asked.

  “I’m just nervous, that’s all. I haven’t seen Lori for a million years. It’s weird, you know?”

  Why in God’s name was Ginny lying again? Diana could tell the girl had recognized the car, so why not admit it? At closer inspection, the Jeep was a classic, circa 1980, or thereabouts, with an army camouflage paint job, tan canvas soft-top, and a spare tire mounted on the rear door. The vehicle seemed a strange choice for a young woman like Lori.

  And for having been in such a tearing hurry, Ginny now seemed reluctant to proceed, but she took a deep breath, cradled the wedding present in her arms, and timidly exited the truck. Diana’s curiosity shifted into overdrive as Ginny approached the grand, faux Tudor entry and rang the bell. Diana’s instincts told her the Jeep had once belonged to a teenage boy, now matured to bridegroom age. A boy named Trevor---Ginny’s ex. As her mind played with that delicious fantasy of two sweethearts coming face to face after all those years, in such a decidedly awkward circumstance, she noted with disappointment that no one seemed to be home.

  As Ginny paced the brick porch, frantically masticating her gum, Diana scolded herself for anticipating such a showdown solely for her personal entertainment. Next, Ginny shrugged and pointed towards the back, indicating she intended to try the rear entrance. Diana nodded and gave her the okay hand signal as she disappeared down a shrub walkway leading along the left side of the house.

  In the meantime, a trio of pre-teen boys on skateboards appeared in the street behind Diana. The tallest one was showing off, likely for her benefit, and in the process managed to wipeout, crashing into the bed of Matthew’s truck.

  “Watch out!” she hollered, sounding crotchety and maternal.

  “I didn’t hurt this old truck, lady!” The kid sassed back as he replaced a blue Duke ball cap backwards on his curly blond head.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?” Now Diana sounded even more like someone’s uptight mama.

  The kid offered an exaggerated sigh. “It’s Saturday, lady.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Earth to Diana! What planet was she living on?

  “But, hey, I’m sorry,” the boy called as he mounted his board and skated away. His two mates rolled off with him, all snickering at her expense.

  After all, this was a classy neighborhood, and the local juvies knew better than to bad mouth a white-haired woman, even if she was sitting in a dated pickup truck in this conclave of BMW’s, Jags, and Lexus’s. Diana shifted self-consciously on the seat. How long should it take to deliver a wedding present? She checked her watch and realized Ginny had only been gone five minutes.

  She listened to an angry mockingbird chattering from the dense branches of a nearby holly bush, and moments later, a white Siamese cat darted out from under that bush. Was it nesting season for mockingbirds? And what the heck was a cat like that doing outdoors? She had only seen them lounging on sofas or fancy pillows, never loose in the wild. She smelled the nostalgic odor of freshly cut grass and heard the hum of a jet plane overhead, but as she prepared to check her watch again, she saw Ginny rushing towards her. This time she was running down a path leading from the right side of the house. Now she was red faced, panting hard, still clutching the gift to her bosom as she strong-armed the driver’s door.

  “What happened?” Diana gasped.

  “Nothing. Lori wasn’t home.”

  As Ginny stowed the gift in the boot, Diana looked to see if the girl’s lying nose was growing like Pinocchio’s. But instead of confronting her, Diana said in a neutral voice. “Too bad.”

  “Bummer.” Ginny agreed. “I must’ve just missed her.”

  The needle on Diana’s bullshit detector swung into the red zone as Ginny continued to gulp air. Her eyes, one shade darker than Matthew’s, literally spun with her lies. “So you couldn’t deliver your gift?”

  “Course not. Should I have left it on the back porch?”

  Maybe Ginny and Lori had a knockdown drag out fight, and Ginny decided not to give the gift? Or juicier yet, Ginny had walked in on the bride and groom doing the dirty. Diana suspected if Ginny still harbored tender feelings for Trevor, then witnessing such an intimate moment could ignite a short temper, which she strongly suspected Ginny possessed.

  “C’mon, you can tell me…” she gently prompted the girl.

  But Ginny was not inclined to confide. “Back off, Diana!” She pounded the innocent dashboard with one balled fist. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re one helluva busybody?”

  So Diana had been told. More than once.

  Ginny treated her to a long, hard stare. “On second thought, Diana, maybe thi
s living together business isn’t such a good idea, after all?”

  Diana felt her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap as Ginny fired up the engine, peeled backwards out the driveway, sped down the street, and left the three skateboarders gaping in admiration. “My sentiments exactly, Ginny. Bad idea.”

  “So Lissa and me will move into a motel.”

  “Absolutely not,” Diana answered in her most stern, bitchy mama voice. “Please take me to my condo and help me unload.”

  SIX

  Liz McCorkle…

  Liz crossed the speed bump and slowed down to a sedate ten miles per hour as she drove into Diana’s condo complex. The joint was jumpin’, as one would expect the first Saturday in May, with winter weary boaters streaming from their apartments clad in shorts and tees, halters and flip- flops. They carried coolers filled with beer and hoagies, beach bags with sunscreen and romance novels. Looking forward to a day on Lake Norman.

  “Lucky for them,” Liz grumbled to Amazing Grace, who was stretched out across the front seat panting, her long head on Liz’s lap, drooling on her knees. “Bet you’d love to go boating, wouldn’t you, girl? Or maybe a nice swim off the dock?”

  But the greyhound was indifferent as she rolled dewy brown eyes at Liz. After spending the best years of her life on the racetrack, Gracie was retired and not inclined towards swimming, or any exercise for that matter. Except an occasional sprint after the squirrels in Danny’s back yard.

  “Okay, never mind.” Liz stroked the dog’s smooth, buttery tan shoulder, then tilted the air conditioner vent towards her face. She lifted her hand and brushed long strands of bright red hair off her moist forehead. “God, it’s hot.”

  When she slowed to a crawl and began looking for a free parking space near Diana’s building, someone rapped hard on the rear of her Honda. Liz spun around to see the smirking face of a former client, his blunt nose peeling with sunburn, and he was grinning like a Cheshire. He loped up to the driver’s side, so Liz stopped moving when he signaled her to power down her window.

  “Hey, Corkie, what’s happening?” He held up a beer grasped in his right fist, gave her a thumbs up with his left. “Business or pleasure?”

  She stared at the fuzzy blond hair poking through the net of a black muscle tank shirt stretched tight over his bulging belly and recalled selling him a first floor unit here in Davidson Landing. But she could not remember his name.

  “Business,” she answered quickly and forced a smile.

  “Too bad.” His beady eyes strayed into the vee of her sundress.

  “No rest for the weary.” She sighed. “Gotta go…”

  “That your dog?”

  “Not exactly.” Gracie’s long skinny tail was beating a tattoo against the seat, and Liz wished she had an attack dog instead of this friendly wuss. A burglar could be raping her, and Gracie would either lick him to death or hide under the bed.

  “Then whose dog is it?”

  Long story. Liz and her longtime lover, Danny Cappelli, were keeping Gracie for Diana, but Danny had fallen in love with the animal. She sensed a major custody battle looming, should Diana ever try to repossess her pet.

  “She belongs to my boyfriend,” Liz answered pointedly.

  The jerk frowned. “So where’s the boyfriend today? You guys should be out playing, right?”

  “Wrong.” Liz powered up the window. “Sorry, I really have to work.” Before he could protest, she inched her car forward, almost crushing his bare toes. He jumped aside, and she saw him waggling his fingers in her side mirror as she escaped.

  “Creep.” Liz glanced at Gracie. “How come you didn’t bite him?”

  Liz was tired of men who hit on her without the slightest provocation, and clients were the worst. Sometimes she longed for complete anonymity, but her Honda was what Diana called “a traveling billboard.” Liz had paid a graphic artist to enlarge two photos of herself and laminate them to the sides of her car. Underneath the photos was her name, Liz “Corkie” McCorkle, and her motto, “You’re in good hands.”

  Great advertising. The downside was guys like the parking lot Romeo spotted Liz wherever she went. No privacy. But you’d think after working together for five years, Diana would appreciate the upside. After all, Liz attracted attention and got most of the listings. Although Diana closed most of the sales. They were a good team.

  “What do you think, Gracie? Isn’t your mommy Diana a conservative old poop?”

  No comment.

  In fact, Liz’s only mission here today was to fetch Gracie’s food, which she and Danny had forgotten when they picked her up. This shared custody shit was getting to be a drag, but Diana had left for some mysterious getaway, leaving Liz to baby-sit the greyhound, hold down the office, and complete a mound of paperwork.

  But Diana was Liz’s best friend, no doubt about it. Made no difference she was twenty years older than Liz. Sometimes Diana was uptight, old-fashioned, and way square when it came to drugs, sex, and rock n’ roll---but she was a straight shooter. She had supported Liz, mentored Liz, and picked her up each time she’d fallen. So, yeah, Liz loved Diana. And if this mysterious weekend involved Diana and Matthew Troutman, Liz was all for it. If it meant Diana had finally said yes to the man---which Liz strongly suspected---then her sacrifice was well worth it.

  Now, if she could ever find a damned parking slot, she’d use the key Diana had supplied, collect the dog food, and get on with her life. Her emotional thermostat soared into the red zone as she circled twice, furious because some ignorant fool had occupied Diana’s clearly marked space.

  Okay, she would pull up behind the bastard and block him in. After all, she’d only need a couple of minutes to do her errand. So she choked off a smooth love song playing on the radio, cracked the windows, and twisted off the ignition.

  She took a deep breath, got her temper under control. “You stay in the car, Gracie. I’ll be right back…”

  When she glanced a second time at the offending vehicle, Liz suddenly recognized the beat up red and white pickup. Jesus, it was Trout’s truck. Good lord, had Diana and Trout had a fight? Fucked up the weekend? Or simply decided to stay home instead of opting for a romantic getaway?

  Then she saw Diana’s suitcase sitting outside the entrance to her condo, and beside it on the flagstone patio, was Diana’s beloved cappuccino machine. What was that about?

  At the same moment, before she could jump from the Honda to investigate, a woman’s head lifted from beside Trout’s truck. The tough-looking girl had black, punk-cut hair, purple lipstick, dark eyeliner, and a silver stud in her nose. Liz noticed the Hard Rock Café tee as the stranger reached a long arm into the bed of the truck and lifted out Diana’s cosmetic case. So what the hell was this person doing with Diana’s stuff?

  Liz was frozen in fascination as the girl tromped up the three steps to Diana’s door, then angrily dropped the case onto the flagstone. Was it Liz’s imagination, or had the door opened from the inside? Diana? The exchange between them was not friendly. When Diana invited her inside, the girl refused to go. Liz remained immoveable, as though a giant hand was pinning her down. Gracie pulled upright, rested her jaw on the dash and whined.

  Seconds later, Goth Girl stomped back towards the truck, a thundercloud on her shoulder, lightning in her eyes. She noticed Liz’s Honda, and placed her hands on her hips.

  “You plannin’ to move anytime soon?” she hollered.

  Why couldn’t Liz respond? Something about the woman was familiar, like a well-known lyric just out of reach. She felt like calling out a name she couldn’t quite remember. In the meantime, the stranger shifted foot to foot, communicating her bad attitude across the lot, inspiring Liz to start her engine as Gracie began to growl.

  She backed out of the way as quickly as possible. The obnoxious creature fired up Trout’s Ford and flew backwards, nearly grazing the Honda’s hood. Liz kept backing while the stranger shifted into first gear and moved away.

  The last thing Liz saw was G
oth Girl’s hand come out the window. She extended her middle finger and punched the sky.

  SEVEN

  Billy…

  Billy was hungry and thirsty. He checked his official souvenir watch from the winter Olympics with a picture of Shaun White flying above the half pipe. 10:45 AM. Mom should be home from her tennis by now, and she had promised to bring pizza rolls and chips. But when he tucked his skateboard under his arm and peered into their garage, he saw Mom’s SUV had not returned.

  Bummer. He should’ve boarded into town with the guys, bought a burger at the Soda Shop. But Billy had no cash. Miss Lori was the next best bet. She always kept Moon Pies and root beer for her boyfriend, and always shared them with Billy if the boyfriend wasn’t around.

  Besides, Lori was hot. He glided down the sidewalk, then carried his deck to the top of the hill. Placed his board, pushed off. All his friends agreed Lori was way sexy, with her long, soft brown hair and big boobs. He towed the concrete, picked up speed, did a couple kick flips. Billy remembered how Lori’s compact little butt moved inside her shorts---those long brown legs

  He planted both feet and held out his arms, like a soaring bird, and wondered if Lori and the dude she was planning to marry did it each time he came over---which was every night. Sometimes he came during the day, since Lori had no job. Mom claimed Lori’s dead parents left her the big house on River Falls Road plus a ton of money.

  Billy crouched low, felt the pavement vibrate under his wheels, the wind in his hair, and pretended he was Tony Hawk, the huckster. He almost crashed when he jumped the curb, but corrected in time, skidded to a stop, dismounted.

  Maybe Lori had watched his awesome ride from behind that curtain at her living room window? Billy had seen her peeking out from there before, waiting for her dude to come. He glanced at the driveway, but her lover’s army Jeep was gone. The coast was clear.