Cold Turkey

my hand.

For a moment I returned the clasp, then pulled free. We were getting too emotional. I could hear it in his voice, feel it inside me. It wouldn’t work between us. I was a good six years older than he. He should find someone nearer his own age, someone who didn’t already know the bleak despair of losing a sheriff husband.

It was time to switch focus, talk instead about the things that really mattered. “My car’s getting drenched!” I said, accusingly. “The top’s down.”

He drew a deep, shuddering breath, switching his own mental gears. When he spoke he sounded more like his normal self. “Put it up again.”

“Well, if you’re not on the verge of bleeding to death, I will.”

“He only got my shoulder. It burns like hell, though. If I hadn’t hit my head and knocked myself out… Damn, you’re not going to let me live that down, are you? And to top it off, I’ve got a splitting headache.”

“Good for you. I hate men who pretend nothing ever hurts.” I turned on my heel, only to stop. “Oh, God. Tony.” I peered through the darkness of the room. “Tony? Are you all right?” Then, when no response came, “Are you here?”

A mumble that might have been a groan answered me at last. I fumbled my way around the office, banging my shin against the bottom of the desk, and at last found the young man’s leg by cautious feel. A rope, padded with sheepskin, bound his ankles. Adam really had planned and prepared well for tonight.

“Here.” Sarkisian handed me something heavy and metallic that proved to be a box cutter.

“Thanks.” I sawed through the knot, not without a bit of sotto voce swearing at the difficulty, then groped my way to find his wrists. In only five minutes-I never said I was good at cutting people free-Tony managed to sit up and pull his own gag from his mouth.

“He was going to kill me!” the young man wailed.

“Sheepskin?” Sarkisian asked. Apparently he had found the discarded stuff and examined it.

“So as not to leave any unexplainable marks on the body.” I felt so tired I only wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. Instead I gave them the short version of what Adam had confessed to me.

Sarkisian muttered a few words that expanded my vocabulary. “I really walked into that one,” he finished on a note of self-disgust.

“At least you’re going to walk out again. And now,” I added as I stumbled my way to the door, “I’m going to rescue what’s left of my car.”

“Annike.” His quiet voice made me stop. “Thanks.”

“Oh, your department will get the bill if my upholstery’s ruined,” I assured him, forcing a teasing note into my voice. If he got all serious on me, our friendship-and it was going to remain a friendship and nothing more-wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

“I’ll put you and your turkey and your car on the payroll.” It would have sounded more like a solemn promise if the amusement hadn’t crept back into his voice.

“Don’t even joke about it!” I turned to face him, searching for his features in the dark. “I swear, Owen, never will I have anything to do with a murder investigation again! It’s too hard on me.”

He started to laugh, but broke off on a groan.

“Serves you right.” The fact that it was too dark to see seriously hindered my dignified stalk to the door. Of course, Sarkisian couldn’t see it, so I guess it didn’t matter.

In the distance, the first wail of a siren sounded.

Epilogue

By Monday evening, life had returned to as normal as things ever got in Upper River Gulch. Sarkisian had been released from the hospital early that morning with the wound in his shoulder, which had caused so much bleeding, stitched and bandaged. When I told him the full story of Adam’s capture, he decided to award That Damned Bird a special commendation and medal for valor. That Valorous Turkey, I told him, was going to get a new home, whether it wanted it or not.

And so Gerda and I had left her shop around six that evening and headed into Meritville in search of alternative living accommodations. We drove Hans Gustav. Freya’s convertible top still didn’t close properly, and I couldn’t take it in for repairs with That Valorous Turkey ensconced in the backseat, trying to bite anyone who touched the Mustang.

“It’s better than one of those irritating car alarms that go off in the middle of the night when the wind blows too hard,” Gerda told me as we left the restaurant where we’d had dinner. Our real purpose for coming into town was our next stop-the pay and pull yard where you could buy car parts-and parts of cars-for a decent price.

“That’s a matter of opinion.” I checked her supply of music tapes and shoved in the Pirates of Penzance. I’d been in a Gilbert and Sullivan mood all day.

The rain had let up a few hours ago, and stars glittered in the night sky. Not so much as a wisp of cloud. Where was the clear weather when I’d needed it so badly? Well, since I was now about to go browsing in a junkyard, the lack of rain would prove useful.

“What do you think Tedi Bird would like?” Gerda asked as we pulled into the parking lot. The place was closed, but I’d been there before when Freya needed repair. Flood lights illuminated the place from dusk to dawn. The owner always encouraged prospective customers to check out what was available. The smaller, more portable, items remained behind a chain-link fence, but the major chunks of cars lay scattered along the edges of the asphalt. Security cameras kept guard from several strategic locations, keeping prospective thieves honest.

“Well, let’s have a look.” I climbed out into the icy chill and frost that had replaced the rain, and huddled into my coat. The tail of my oversized “Pumpkin Pie Chef” T-shirt hung out from the bottom.

“A hard top?” Gerda suggested.

I shook my head. “Convertible. I talked to Simon, and he’s promised to build a turkey coop around whatever we find.”

Gerda beamed at me. “There, I knew you really loved Tedi Bird.”

“Let’s say I owe her,” I admitted.

I passed the front end of a pickup. The seats didn’t look cozy enough. The next I inspected looked too cramped. But the old Dodge next in line had possibilities. Only the rear end of the car remained, and it seemed about the same size as Freya’s. I moved the tarp that covered the space where the front had been removed and checked the upholstery, which didn’t look too bad.

Gerda peered over my shoulder. “Do you think we could get the trunk cut off? We only need the rear seats, after all.”

“Hmmm.” I moved around to the back. “It’s not closed completely.” I pulled open the trunk, looked inside, then slammed it at once.

Gerda swallowed. “Annike?”

“No,” I said.

“That was a body in there.”

“No it wasn’t. I didn’t see anything.”

“Annike, there’s a dead man in that trunk!”

I turned to face her, seeing a reflection of my own horror in her eyes. “I’m not finding another body,” I told her.

“I think you already did.”

“I can’t!” I wailed. “You didn’t hear my abjuration of all things related to murder investigations! Sarkisian will never let me live this down.”

“But this is a job for the Meritville police,” Gerda pointed out, as one clearing away all obstacles.

I shook my head. “Outside the city limits. This is county.”

“Then you’ll have to call Sarkisian. Well,” she added, always one to find the bright side of anything, “you’ve been avoiding breaking in that new cell phone.”

“Can’t I continue the avoiding?” With memories of Sunday night still haunting me, I’d gone out first thing that morning and signed up for a wireless phone service. I hadn’t used it, yet. I didn’t want to. But emergencies