Bones Behind the Wheel Read online

  Almost against my will, I looked. Maxie’s drawings were extremely professional looking. I did not find that a surprise at all; I knew she had been very serious about her profession when she was alive and had not hesitated—even when she should have—to make suggestions about my house during the years she’d been haunting the place.

  The designs themselves were no less Maxie than I would have predicted, and that was the problem.

  Maxie’s concept for my kitchen—and I could tell it was my kitchen because at least she’d left the stove in the same spot it now occupied—was essentially to throw a bomb into the room and then rearrange the debris with an eye toward pleasing art critics rather than anyone who might want to cook a meal.

  The refrigerator had somehow migrated across the room and gotten smaller. There were cabinets, but instead of hanging from the ceiling as they had they were now all stacked in one area of the room closest to the back door, which was had taken on a rather distinctive purple color. It was easy to see why the cabinets weren’t attached to ceiling, as Maxie had eliminated the drywall in favor of open space, exposing the beams, one of which was about to become steel at the hands of Tony and Vic. Each wall was a separate color ranging from aqua to black. Light was supplied with a series of bare bulbs attached to the ceiling beams. The center island was eliminated in favor of a rolling wooden table that had no storage space under it. The barstools I used around the island were replaced with … nothing.

  “Maxie …” I began. I really was trying to be sensitive to her feelings; I knew how much she was invested in this emotionally.

  “You don’t like it.” The disappointment in her voice was palpable.

  “You moved one of the windows.” Maybe practicality could convince her.

  “It was in the way of my design.”

  “Do you have any idea what this would cost to do?”

  Maxie looked at me blankly. “I’m not charging you for this. What would I do with money?”

  “You’re missing the point. I get there’s no fee for your services. You don’t seem to understand that I’d have to pay for the workmen and materials to get all this to happen. Moving a window? Redoing the plumbing? I’m already paying for a steel beam in the ceiling. Where’s the rest of this supposed to come from?”

  Maxie reached for the ceiling in exasperation. “This is what I was afraid of!” she shouted. “I try for one minute to express myself creatively and all you want to do is nitpick. Okay. Okay.” She turned her head to one side and spread out her hands, putting on a show of calming herself down. “You didn’t like that one. That’s okay. I have another.”

  She flipped the page on the artist’s pad to reveal what I’m sure she’d refer to as her backup design, which was no doubt intended to be less outrageous (“more boring,” in Maxie-speak) and appease the customer, who in this case was me.

  No major structural changes were made to the room in this one, which was refreshing. But the island was still gone and replaced with next to nothing. There was something resembling a card table in the far corner where I suppose Josh, Liss and I were supposed to eat as long as we never invited anyone over. The bulk of the floor space was devoted to plants, including two palm trees that were intended to grow through the ceiling and into the backyard, which would be a shock for palm trees that hadn’t intended to be transplanted into a New Jersey winter. It was also going to be something of a surprise for the kitchen ceiling, which was not pictured in Maxie’s sketch. So maybe what I said about “no major structural changes” needs a little revision.

  “How are we supposed to cook in this room?” I asked the creative genius.

  “You never cook,” she pointed out. Apparently that was supposed to justify turning my kitchen into a greenhouse.

  “No, but Melissa does, and I do eat. There’s barely any space on this to do that, either.”

  She started to point to the drawing of the card table. “No,” I said. “That’s not nearly enough. Suppose I have guests for dinner.”

  “Why do you want to do that?” Maxie is not much for socializing, or doing much of anything else, with people she doesn’t like, and she doesn’t like most people.

  “Occasionally my mother does like to come over or hadn’t you noticed that?”

  “There’s enough room for four people at that table.” Maxie said. Her argument was losing a little conviction, which I was grateful to see.

  “There’s no ceiling on the kitchen,” I noted, indicating that space in the drawing.

  “I figured we could raise the roof to accommodate the palm trees,” she said. “It’s really unique.”

  “That’s true, but it’s equally impossible. There are two bedrooms on the second floor above this room, and then the attic, which has Melissa’s bedroom. We’re going to need a ceiling here.”

  Maxie snatched the sketchpad off the coffee table like a dog going after a piece of steak that has accidentally hit the dining room floor. “I can’t work if I’m not being appreciated!” she shouted, and vanished through the still-extant ceiling. Given her tone I figured I wouldn’t be hearing from her until the spook show, and if she was mad enough maybe not even then.

  I wasn’t alone for long. Tony and Vic showed up in my driveway and eventually could be heard coming through the back door, something I was not yet able to do. Contractors—and I have done a little work in the area in addition to seeing my father do the same the whole time I was growing up—take over a house as their own and there’s remarkably little the client can do about it. I was the client. I couldn’t do anything about it. But the work was in progress and I appreciated that, so I tried very hard not to resent the intrusion into my life even as I was hoping it would end very soon.

  Tony stuck his head through the kitchen door. “We’re going to get started,” he said. “Might be a little noisy. We’re jacking up the house so we can take out the beam.”

  I knew this was coming. “Do what you have to do, Tony.”

  He nodded, then looked back at me. “Jeannie wants you to come for dinner tomorrow night,” he said. “She says it’s your reward for putting up with me all day.”

  “My reward for putting up with you all day is putting up with you in the evening?”

  Tony laughed. “I told her you’d say that.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Before the door stopped its minimal swinging, Paul had risen up through the den floor. It was like living in a very odd French farce where people kept coming in and out of rooms but doors never slammed shut because most of the people could just phase through solid objects. And I was so used to it by now that I barely even took notice.

  Paul looked like something very exciting was going on in his case. His goatee was slightly irregular, indicating a lot of stroking had gone on. His clothes were a little disheveled, and since physical properties could have no effect on them that meant he was not concentrating on his appearance. It was as if he were incredibly tired, which wasn’t technically possible. He couldn’t even yawn. Yawning happens when your brain needs more oxygen. Paul’s brain, I believed, had been returned to Canada and was certainly not in need of extra air.

  Before I could comment, he said, “The person whose bones were found in that car in your backyard was murdered.”

  Chapter 14

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” I told Paul.

  We had retreated to the basement because I didn’t have my usual kitchen sanctuary on which to rely. Paul is comfortable among all the detritus and the furnace and frankly, aesthetics weren’t the first thing on my mind at the moment.

  To his credit, he nodded. He understood that I wanted no part of this adventure. “Certainly, Alison,” he said. “But I think so much more clearly when I can say everything out loud and have someone to listen.”

  “Go talk to Lt. McElone,” I suggested. “After the spook show I’ll drive you over. She can’t respond very well but you can tell her absolutely anything you like.”

  He tried to stop me with a look.
“It’s not the same thing,” he said.

  I kept walking. “Talk to Maxie,” I countered. “She can hear and see you and she’s done this sort of thing before. If all you need is a sounding board, she’s the perfect fit.” There was a spot behind the furnace I preferred not to look at because seeing what was there would facilitate a complete afternoon of cleaning and possibly a visit from our local exterminator, a guy named Gus who chewed tobacco. I’d rather pass on Gus when I can. No offense, Gus.

  “Maxie is engrossed in the design work she is doing for you and can barely be distracted often enough to do the two shows each day,” Paul pointed out. “You are my best option. Or I could consult with Melissa.” We’d both heard the somewhat heavy steps above our heads. Teenagers in the morning are not light on their feet.

  “I don’t want Liss involved in this,” I said. “She’s got enough to do with sixth grade and she’s helped solve enough murders for a thirteen-year-old. Move on.”

  He looked at me and smiled his little polite British/Canadian smile. “You’re the one I have left,” he said.

  From upstairs I heard at the basement door, “Mom?”

  “Up in a second,” I answered. Then I turned to Paul and said quietly, “Talk fast.”

  He did. “I spent some time early this morning in the hole from which the Continental had been extracted.”

  “In the hole?” I asked.

  “Best way to see things up close,” Paul said. “And since I have no physical presence, it was much like being here is for me right now.” I positioned myself away from the corner of the furnace I had been avoiding with my eyes. Now it was behind me. “And once I was in that environment and able to blend into the walls of the earth around me, it was clear that the person in the car had not chosen to be interred with it in the nineteen seventies.”

  “How was that clear?” Sometimes you have to focus Paul or he will lecture on a topic for what seems like three or four days when it’s really only two.

  “For one thing in the car there were two spots of blood, very dried, but one less dark than the other, so probably not as old,” he said. “There were digging implements thrown into the hole, presumably after the car, and there were spent bullets in the driver’s seat, particularly the headrest.”

  “Were they like the bullets Menendez found in the ceiling beam upstairs?” I asked.

  “No. Those were from a larger handgun and these were of a smaller caliber. Even after all these years it was clear they had been fired. But the shooter had not been firing inside the car. That would have been far too tight a space, and the casings would probably have been left on the floor of the Continental. These were scattered but lodged in various areas. Two of them were lodged in the earth around the car, but the car’s windows showed no damage from bullets. I believe the shooting was done while the victim was in the car but before it was completely interred. The killing took place before the car was buried. The man did not die of asphyxiation or natural causes.”

  “What did Josh text you about after he talked to Bill and Jim?” I asked. I might as well know how my husband’s obsession might be preying on his mind. There was a whole day to go before he came home to tell me about it.

  “He said Mr. Harrelson had told him there was no way to get a full-sized excavator or bulldozer with enough power to haul a Lincoln Continental out of the ground without making deep imprints into the sand and creating enough noise to wake the household, including me, although I’m sure Mr. Harrelson did not refer to Maxie, Everett or myself.”

  “So how does Bill think it was done?”

  Paul looked away; he hates it when he doesn’t have a satisfactory explanation for something. It disturbs the vast logical areas of his mind. Paul would have made an excellent Vulcan. “He had no idea,” he said finally. “But I believe it is fairly clear; someone wanted to remove an incriminating item from the car and then return it so the police could be led in the wrong direction.” He looked at me sideways. “Your husband is a good operative. He said he noticed Bill was favoring his left arm and asked about it; Bill said he had injured it on the job yesterday.” I’d noticed the same thing but felt this was a bad time to prove I was a helpful investigator.

  I wanted to make sure Paul understood my position in this investigation, which was outside of it. So I worded my next question very carefully. “So what are you going to do next?”

  Paul took a moment and acknowledged the message I’d sent by briefly closing his eyes. It didn’t help because his eyelids are largely transparent so I could still kind of see the pupils looking at me. But that was the response I’d wanted because it indicated he understood my stance. “If you don’t mind I will take you up on that ride to the police station after our first show in the morning,” Paul said. “But I think someone should tell Lt. McElone about what I have found.”

  “You didn’t take the bullet casings out with you?” I said, ignoring the implication that since Paul couldn’t talk to McElone it would have to be a living adult who didn’t actually run a paint store during the day.

  “Of course not. One doesn’t disturb a crime scene. Those shells are valuable evidence.”

  “Look. The wrecking crew from the crime lab will be back here today because I think they see this as their home away from home now. So I’ll point out the casings to them. But that’s all I’m going to do, okay?” Paul started to raise his hand to correct me so I added, “And give you a ride to McElone.”

  “Thank you, Alison.” He lowered his hand to his side. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  Did I … what? “Suggestions?”

  “Yes. When you consult on a case I always like to hear your input. Do you have any theories on the car in the beach and the murdered person inside it?” Paul tilted his head to one side a bit so he could look more open to my comments.

  “My input is that I’m not consulting on this case,” I reminded him. “You needed a sounding board. You sounded. That’s it. I’ll talk to the cops later and I’ll drive you to McElone. That is the limit of my participation.”

  “Heading out, Mom!” Melissa called from upstairs.

  “Hang on,” I called back and headed up the rickety basement steps.

  Liss looked a little surprised but I ran over to her and gave her a very sincere hug as she was heading toward the door. She smiled a bit. “What’s that all about?”

  “I appreciate you,” I said.

  She looked just a little bit more bemused. “Thanks. I appreciate you, too. See you later.” And off she went, just as if she were a sixth-grader getting a ride to school. I reminded myself that it would be my turn to drive the carpool tomorrow. I had once tried to convince the mayor of Harbor Haven to get a school bus route at least for the little kids, but now that mayor was in prison so it hadn’t worked out that well. It’s a long story.

  Paul was right behind me when Liss closed the front door. “You’re holding back,” he said.

  I felt a sharp intake of breath because it hadn’t occurred to me that he’d come up through the floor in the front room. I spun and faced him. “Don’t do that!” I insisted.

  “Do what?” Tony stuck his head out through the kitchen door.

  “Not you,” I said. “We gonna be finished today?”

  “I make no promises.” His head was unstuck through the door and I heard the plastic sheeting go back up. The front part zips like the back of a dress. Tony zipped it like I assumed he did for Jeannie when she gets dressed up.

  “You’re holding back,” Paul repeated.

  “Is that your new mantra?”

  “I didn’t even have an old mantra. Come on, Alison. You wanted to say something when I asked you about the case and you made an excuse to come up and give Melissa a hug. Tell me what you think.” Paul can have a tone like a beloved college professor coaxing the right answer out of a bright but shy student. It’s really annoying.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I made a sharp right turn and headed down the hall. First t
he library, then the movie room. No. Wait. I hadn’t put out the coffee, tea and doughnuts yet. I turned again and went toward the French doors, where I’d left everything.

  “Yes you do,” Paul countered. “You never change direction in this house; you always have your next move planned ahead of time. Alison. I understand you’re not working on this case and I will not ask you anything more about it. But you had something you wanted to say and I’m asking you to say it now. We won’t discuss it again.”

  I started lugging the Box of Joe (only Steve preferred tea and nobody had asked for decaf) to the cart, which I’d left out the night before in anticipation of the Mandorisi infestation in my kitchen. Then it occurred to me that the cart was on wheels so any lugging was unnecessary. I put the coffee box (that didn’t sound right) down and went for the cart.

  “Okay,” I said to Paul. “This once. You want to know what I’m seeing? I see a guy who’s so intent on finding a case to investigate that he’s ignoring his own rules. You always say that we can’t jump to conclusions without enough facts.” I picked up the box of coffee again and put it on the cart, next to non-dairy creamer and various sweeteners. I had a pint of milk in the auxiliary fridge and put that out with spoons and napkins near the recyclable cups.

  “I don’t believe I am doing that,” Paul said. He didn’t sound defensive but he did seem somewhat surprised that I was challenging him at his own invitation.

  “You are.” I had bought tea already steeped, since there was no access to the kitchen and therefore the stove. I hoped Steve wouldn’t mind. “You found some shotgun shells in an eight-foot hole in the ground. But instead of considering the idea that they might be there because someone used them who knows how long before or after the car was buried, you jumped right to the conclusion that the person in the car was murdered. You don’t have a working explanation for how the car was removed and replaced but you tell me it’s obviously a sign that something incriminating was in the car that had to be cleaned out. It was forty years ago, Paul. How is that plausible? The killer just happened to be walking by and saw the car, so they decided they had to bring in the heavy equipment instead of getting inside and taking whatever the item might be? You’re not thinking logically because you like having a case and this one seemed interesting to you.”