Fatal Voyage

“And nobody cares for me.”

* * *

I drove straight to Lucy Crowe's office. The rain had stopped, but dark clouds shouldered each other low over the mountains, jockeying for position with their heavy loads.

I found the sheriff eating a corn dog behind the Civil War desk. Seeing me, she wiped crumbs from her mouth, then arced the stick and wrapper into a trash can across the room.

“Two points,” I said.

“All net. No rim.”

I laid hard copy in front of her and took a chair. She studied the VFA profile a full minute, elbows splayed on the desktop, fingers on her temples. Then she looked up.

“I know you're going to explain this.”

“Volatile fatty acids.”

“Meaning?”

“A body decomposed inside that wall.”

“Whose?”

“The VFA ratios suggest a time since death of six to seven weeks. Daniel Wahnetah was last seen in late July, reported missing in August. It's now October. Do the math.”

“Assuming I accept that premise, which I don't necessarily, how did Wahnetah's foot get to the crash scene?”

“If Boyd smelled decomposition, so could coyotes. They probably dragged the foot from under the wall. There's room where the foundation has crumbled.”

“And left the rest of him?”

“They probably couldn't detach anything else.”

“And how did Wahnetah get inside the courtyard?”

I shrugged.

“And how did he die?”

“That's sheriffing. I do the science.”

Down the hall Hank Williams crooned the “Long-Gone Lonesome Blues.” Static made the music sound like it was coming from another era.

“Is this enough for a warrant?” I asked.

The sheriff studied the paper for another full minute. Finally she looked up, the eyes to die for hard on mine. Then she reached for the phone.

* * *

By the time I left the sheriff 's office a light rain was falling. Headlights, stoplights, and neon signs twinkled and shimmered in the dusk of early evening. The air was heavy with the smell of skunk.

Outside at High Ridge House, Boyd lay in his doghouse, chin on paws, gazing at the raindrops. He raised his head when I called and gave me a look to indicate I should do something. Seeing that I wasn't, he sighed noisily and settled back down. I filled his dish and left him to ponder his sodden world.

Inside, the house was still. I climbed the stairs to the slow ticktick-tick of Ruby's hall clock. No sound came from any bedroom.

Rounding the corner at my end of the hall, I was surprised to see the door to Magnolia slightly ajar. I pushed it inward. And froze.

The drawers in my room had been rifled, the bed stripped. My briefcase had been emptied, and papers and manila folders lay scattered across the floor.

My mind locked on one word.

No! No! No!

I tossed my purse on the bed, flew to the wardrobe, and threw open the doors.

My laptop sat tucked in back, exactly as I'd left it. I pulled it out and clicked it on, my mind still racing.

What was in the room? What was in the room? What was in the room?

Quick mental inventory. Car keys. Credit cards. Driver's license. Passport. All had been with me.

Why? Why? Why?

A quick ransack for valuables, or was someone after something specific? What was there that anyone would want?

What? What? What?

When the computer booted I checked a few files. Everything seemed fine.

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Then I closed my eyes and played a childhood game I knew would calm me. Silently, I ran through the lyrics of the first song to come to mind. “Honky Tonk Women.”