Leg Up Read online

  “Lindsey stole the new bartender.” Joe doubled over in laughter, slapping his knee a few times. I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Well, that’s not the reaction I was expecting.”

  “Will? Tall, dark and as gay as Rupert Everett, over there?” He pointed at the new bartender. Jen finally gave us her full attention.

  “He’s gay?” she exclaimed.

  “And married. His husband is amazing. A bigwig in the Drag Queen scene in San Fran.”

  “No.” She elongated the word in her shock.

  “Yes.”

  “Hah!” They both looked at me. “I guessed that he was wearing eyeliner when I came in.”

  “That’s making assumptions based on stereotypes,” Jen said primly.

  “He is, isn’t he?” I couldn’t hold back my smirk.

  “No!” That was too much emphasis. I pinned her with a stare. “Okay, he is, but I didn’t want to judge! Straight men are starting to wear it, too!” she protested, as I shook my head at her.

  “So how long do you think it takes for Lindsey to catch on?” I asked. We all looked over at the seat Lindsey was parked in at the bar, her boobs dangerously high and multiple drinks in front of her.

  “Hopefully a few weeks. I could use some of that blog money,” Joe said with a smile. “Here’s your food.” He got up as Josie put the pizza down.

  “Pizza and pineapple cider? Could you be any more boring?” Jen demanded.

  “Hey! Pineapple cider is different! Most people get pear or apple,” I defended myself, as I lifted a piece of pizza.

  “You keep thinking that.”

  “I will. Today has sucked, but pizza makes it better.”

  “Don’t worry. Tomorrow has to get better.”

  I had a sinking feeling in my gut. I was pretty sure that was the same phrase I told myself before falling asleep last night.

  Chapter 7

  I was right. It didn’t get better.

  And not just because of the painting, which I had decided needed to be destroyed in a tragic bonfire while I made s’mores and sang whatever campfire songs I could remember. No, the painting was just the start.

  There was still no coffee.

  “How can you live like this?!” I wanted to yell it at Jen but yelling required energy and energy required coffee, and, well, no coffee.

  “Not everyone is caffeine dependent!” Jen growled back at me.

  “But you went to the store. You got food. How did you not get coffee?”

  “I forgot! It isn’t something I normally need. I didn’t see you remembering to bring any.”

  She had a point.

  “How are you energetic this early in the morning without coffee?” I asked, before my head hit the table. The lovely scrambled eggs and toast that Jen had made me sat next to my head, uneaten. There was no eating before coffee. I heard her sigh in disgust at my theatrics, and I knew there was an eye-roll or two thrown in for good measure. Jen was an eye-roller.

  “You may want to complain less and eat more.”

  “Why?” I asked, without taking my head off the table.

  “It’s Thursday.”

  “So?”

  “It’s Thursday.” Finally, her emphasis got through to my tired brain. Oh no. I lifted my head and shoveled in food.

  Today was the Whale Watch. It was a tourist attraction that the local fisherman started years ago. The first time Liam had rented out his boat to some tourists, his plan was to take them out, see some birds, maybe a dolphin or two, and come back saying they ‘just missed’ the whales. Instead, they found a whole pod that breached right next to the boat. One video, ten days, and thousands of followers later, Liam now had a thriving business he ran one day a week. He said he only ran it one day because he didn’t want to give up his true love: fishing. The locals all knew it was because that first trip was a fluke. We never see whales. Liam’s trips come back with a ten percent rate of finding anything whale-like. But the tourists still paid just in case they might be the next lucky sucker to almost die from a capsized boat in a whale pod.

  All of this meant that the coffee shop was overrun every Thursday from 6-8 a.m. when Liam left for his cruise. And with no Bryan? It would be total chaos. No food. Drinks that took forever. It was enough to make me debate how much I needed coffee. Not enough to give up, but enough to debate.

  “Do you think Tops will still have coffee?” I asked through mouthfuls. We didn’t have time for me to wait to swallow. Swallowing was for beginners. “Whoever killed Bryan is seriously pissing me off.” I forced the words out between bites.

  “You weren’t pissed off before? I would have been pissed since the first body part.”

  “It’s a sliding scale. Leg, mild torture. Arm, murder. Forcing me to deal with Whale-Watching Thursday with them down their best barista? Now I’m starting to understand why anyone would go through the effort of dismemberment.”

  “Oh, please. You’re too lazy even with coffee to dismember someone.”

  I looked at her, and that comment shook a thought loose in my brain.

  “Dismemberment is hard.”

  “Um, yes?”

  “Like really hard, right?”

  “I mean, I haven't actually looked into it since, you know, I don’t murder people, but I would assume so.” She eyed me.

  “And bloody.”

  “Okay. I’m getting you coffee today. This,” she gestured at me, “is starting to scare me.”

  “No, no. I mean, yes, but no, follow the thought. You would need a big room to dismember a body, preferably one that’s easy to clean. And a big tool. Is a woman even strong enough to do it?”

  “Thanks for putting women’s rights back twenty years, and yes. We have tools for that.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you had that answer.” I lifted my eyebrows in challenge, and she sighed before giving me an answer.

  “Chainsaw. A woman can use a chainsaw.”

  “Have you used a chainsaw?” She was giving females credit I didn’t deserve. Last time I tried to use a chainsaw, it won.

  “No, but how hard could it be?”

  “Hard.”

  “Don’t think we won’t be circling back to how you know that. But, if I’m following your logic, you think that the killer is a man. One with access to a chainsaw?”

  “Or axe.” I held up my phone, which I had grabbed while we talked. “It says here that an axe is actually less messy and only slightly harder to use.”

  “What are you looking at? Is the page www dot serial killer dot com? Is this something people normally look up? Like someone wakes up and thinks, ‘It’s a beautiful day. I wonder, how could I dismember a body?’”

  “Okay, one— mystery writers do that,” I said. “And two— the person who answered is a butcher. He cuts up full animals on a regular basis.”

  “I really need to become a vegetarian. That’s disgusting.”

  I looked up from my phone and stared at her. “You are currently eating eggs.”

  “Vegetarians eat eggs!”

  “No. I mean that we are eating breakfast while trying to figure out how to dismember a human body, and what bothers you is that a butcher is the one that answered.”

  “Are you telling me it doesn’t bother you that this man cuts animals up for a living and is promoting himself as a dismemberment expert online?”

  “He’s just trying to be helpful,” I defended him.

  “Helpful about cutting up bodies!”

  “He’s not…” I had nothing. “Okay, it’s a little creepy. But he has good information.”

  “This is how it all starts. Today, you’re just looking. Finding out how the ‘cool kids’ cut up their corpses. Next thing you know, you’re out of control. Just jonesing until you get your next fix.”

  “You are insane in the morning,” I told her. “You know that, right?”

  “An ex or two might have mentioned it.”

  “It’s the no-coffee thing. It leaves you unstable,” I m
uttered under my breath.

  “Give it up on the no-coffee thing! Not. Everyone. Drinks. Coffee!”

  We sat there in silence for a second, the only noise the sound of our forks on the plate.

  “Does anyone even say ‘jonesing’ anymore?”

  “Shut up, coffee bitch.”

  “Jeez. You are mean in the morning.”

  “Don’t you have a coffee shop to conquer? Go away.” My plate disappeared into the sink as she glared at me.

  Wow. I couldn’t remember the last time I got a home-cooked meal and didn’t have to do the dishes. It was kind of nice. I sat back in my seat to enjoy it.

  “Lark?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thursday!”

  “Shiitake mushrooms!” I grabbed my purse and ran out the door. But before it shut behind me, I turned and poked my head back in.

  “And just so you know, nothing is disturbing enough for me to give up bacon!” Then I slammed the door and took off at what I claimed was a brisk walk. It was the gait in between a light jog and running for my life. I would have thought that in the last thirty years I had matured enough to let someone else have the last word. But I was wrong.

  I walked the two blocks to Tops quickly, but I was still disappointed at the length of the line when I got there. It was out the door, five people waiting just to get inside. I slipped into the line behind a couple from the L.A. area who were elated about their fun day on the water. They just knew they were going to get some great pictures of whales. Good luck.

  Behind me a younger man, maybe eighteen-years-old, stepped into line. The boy was grungy, his clothing stained and wrinkled, his hair so oily I was surprised none dripped off. I expected a smell to emanate from him, but surprisingly he smelled freshly cleaned. Maybe this was the desired result? Or was he just that lazy? It was a toss-up. I tried to be the better person and not give into my instinct to move away from him, but I found myself edging closer to the couple anyway. He was shifting his weight and glancing around almost constantly. Actions I used to reason with myself when I gave in and moved away from him. He was the definition of shifty.

  “Larklyn! My light! What are you doing here this morning?”

  Oh no.

  “Hey, Gran. How are you this morning?”

  “Fine. Fine. Larklyn, it’s Thursday. Why are you here? You should be home.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s okay. You can tell me about it when you come over tonight.”

  Oh no. Really, no. “I’m sorry Gran, but—”

  “You want to bring something! No, I won’t hear of it. Bring food to a dinner at my house? Unacceptable! Rude! Implying I can’t feed you. You know better, Larklyn.”

  Dagnabit. She purposely misunderstood me. I was in trouble. Maybe Jen could come and buffer me. “Okay, Gran, I’ll be there at seven.”

  “Six is perfect, Larklyn. Thank you for suggesting it.”

  Yep. I was in big trouble.

  “See you then,” I said with a weak smile and an even weaker wave.

  “Until then! Love you.” Gran walked away and I let out a sigh only to realize that Shifty had jumped the line to stand in front of me. I thought about saying something, but I could put more distance between us when he was in front, so I let it go.

  It took me ten minutes to get to the front of the line, keeping a decent distance from Shifty. I noticed the couple that had been in front of me eyeing him as well and felt a little better. I might have been judging him, but at least I wasn’t the only one.

  As we got closer to the front of the line, he got more and more agitated, running his hand through his hair and glancing around to catch glimpses out the door. I was contemplating the likelihood that the store was about to be robbed when Laura greeted him. Trying to hide my paranoia, I looked out the window as I watched out the corner of my eye.

  “Hello. May I take your order?” Laura greeted him with a frazzled smile.

  “I have a package for Bryan.”

  Laura stopped what she was doing and looked at him.

  “You can’t deliver it here. What is Fee thinking?” she hissed, looking around. I caught her eye, and she froze for a second, judging the distance between us before changing her tune. “Bryan is dead. If you have anything for him, you need to take it to the police.”

  “Listen, lady. I don’t care who takes it, but I need to be paid.”

  “I can’t help you,” Laura said firmly. “Do you want anything to drink? Maybe on the house for your inconvenience?” She gave him a customer service smile, one that reached from ear to ear but missed her eyes, and held a cup up as if to tempt him.

  “Fine. Mocha. If it’s on the house.”

  “Completely on me.” Her smile tightened until it was more a grimace than anything else as she watched him walk away. She finished with his order and I stopped pretending that I was people-watching.

  “Hey, Lark. Your usual?” Laura greeted me.

  “Please.”

  “No problem.” She rang up my order, but as she handed me back my change, I couldn’t help myself.

  “Who was that? The guy in front of me?”

  “One of Bryan’s friends from the city. No one important. Forget about him.” Laura overplayed her dismissiveness, her hands too emphatic as they waved him away. I was pretty sure she was lying to me.

  “One of Bryan’s friends from the city?”

  “Yes.”

  She moved on to the next customer, and the wait in line gave me more time to analyze the ‘friend’ who was now with me in the group waiting for our drinks. Disregarding his lack of concern over Bryan’s demise, I was still struggling to believe this man had the financial means to drive three hours on a Thursday morning to a small town whose only claim to fame was one resort. From the condition of his shoes, I was surprised that he had a car at all. The shoes were beyond dirty, their days of being white faded into a brown that varied by location. The sole on the right shoe was splitting away, and his sock peeked through. It didn’t matter how lazy he was. If he had the money, those shoes would have been a goner.

  I looked back at Laura, who was glancing over at us with greater frequency than the crowd should allow. She had a frown on her face every time her head swung around to locate the boy and then slipped to me. I tried to look less interested than I was, but I continued to be on her radar until my drink came up, jumping over several people who had been there before me. I think Laura wanted to get me out of the shop as quickly as possible. I took my coffee with a smile, but I couldn’t help one last look at both Laura and Shifty as I walked out the door. Laura was whispering to him as she handed him the cup of coffee and a paper. I was pretty sure she wasn’t giving him her number.

  I kept my head down as I walked back to my truck, which was still parked at my house. When did Laura start knowing Bryan’s friends? From what I knew, they had a professional relationship, but she seemed more… invested in the package Shifty was delivering than she should have been. And what fee was she talking about? As I reached my truck, I tucked those thoughts away. Bryan’s death needed to be solved so my daughter could come home, but I needed to make money first.

  Chapter 8

  Around midday I got a text from John releasing my house.

  Again.

  At least the team collecting evidence was getting quicker at getting my porch back to me. I just hoped this was the last time. After texting Jen to let her know I was hopefully back in my own house tonight, I went back to letting the smell of horses and my connection to these amazing animals drive away my issues at home. This was my happy place. On the back of an animal that couldn’t talk but still be perfectly in sync with me, moving together as one. It was magic.

  I bit the bullet and called my ex during my lunch break to tell him the cliff notes version of my recent deliveries, and he agreed to let Hailey stay one more week. She sounded excited about it. There was some big festival in one of the towns near them and she wanted to go, so the timing
was perfect. I got body parts, and she got a festival. Being an adult was not fair.

  I was getting off of Buddy, my lesson master, when the mailman pulled up. George McCullens was a man in his mid-fifties who personified the image of a mailman and did it with pride. He had silver-grey hair that had gone grey in his twenties and was receding back from his forehead at the corners of his face. Combined with a friendly smile and a penchant for corny jokes, he made friends wherever he went. He was so popular that no one had the heart to tell him his failing eyesight was a problem. George was so proud that he had gotten to this age without ‘enhancements,’ as he referred to what the rest of us called ‘glasses.’ Either way, reading was becoming harder for him and misdeliveries were becoming more common. He also liked to deliver the mail in person, a quirk I had learned to deal with.

  “Lark! I just knew you would be here.”

  I managed to keep my smile instead of asking him where else I would be at three in the afternoon. George didn’t get sarcasm. Or negativity of any sort. When I first met him, I thought no one could really be that nice. He had to be fake. Now I knew better. He was as real as a pie for the Sewing Circle. Sure, some of the ladies might fudge a little and use corn syrup instead of pure, organic cane sugar, but really, who was complaining about that?

  “You couldn’t deliver to the house the last few days, huh?” I prompted, curious what he might have that was worth driving out here to deliver.

  “Yeah, when I saw all the police tape, I decided to just deliver the past few days’ mail to you out here. That way I could check in on you and make sure you’re okay.” He had gotten out of his truck, a big package in his hands that he put down on the mounting block outside the barn. “How are you doing, sweetie? I know that getting all those body parts couldn’t be easy. Do they have any leads? Do they know why you keep getting them?”

  “Not that they’re willing to tell me. Evidently, getting body parts doesn’t give me any more gossip than not getting them. Go figure.”