Dead Dancing Women

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Authors: Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, medium-boiled
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inner door opened and Joslyn Henry stood there, half hidden behind the door, peering out at us through the screen. The woman frowned, hung back. Not a bit friendly. If anything, I would have said Joslyn Henry was wary of me and my uniformed friend.
    â€œYes?” she said, and opened the door a bit wider when she saw who it was. There was still no invitation in her voice, no smile on her long, wary face.
    Her hair was piled up into a loose, floppy topknot. She wore a flowered house dress with a coat sweater over it. Today she looked her seventy or so years, unlike the vital Joslyn Henry I’d met before.
    â€œWhat can I help you with?” Mrs. Henry said, as if we were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
    â€œIt’s me,” I said. “Emily Kincaid. Your neighbor.” I leaned around Dolly and smiled wide to show how harmless I was.
    â€œSure, I know you, Emily. Not senile yet.”
    The screen door stayed closed. I stood with an inane smile pasted on my face. “This is Deputy Dolly … eh …”
    â€œWakowski.” Dolly leaned forward and gave her last name. “We met before, Miz Henry. I think I gave your son Ernie a ticket once. Came here ’cause he got mad and tore it up and I didn’t want his temper getting him in trouble. But that’s neither here nor there. Thing is, Emily, here, found something strange in her garbage can yesterday morning and we’re kind of going around to the neighbors, wondering if you saw anything odd out by the road. Some person not supposed to be hanging around.”
    â€œWhat was it, Emily?” Mrs. Henry asked me, ignoring Dolly. I got the impression that what I had to say wasn’t going to come as a surprise. From her frozen face and icy voice, I figured Mrs. Henry knew about Ruby Poet and had already been crying.
    â€œIt was a human head, Mrs. Henry,” I said, though I was still talking through her screen door and wondering why. Must be Dolly’s uniform again, I thought. We were going to have to split up to talk to people, or Dolly was going to have to think about a wardrobe change.
    Mrs. Henry caught her breath and put a hand to her mouth. She put her other hand out to steady herself in the doorway, forcing the door open a little more. If she would only have unlocked the damned screen, I could have helped her. Whatever her reason for the unfriendly behavior, she was on her own handling her surprise—if it was a surprise.
    â€œWhose head was it?” she asked when she could take a deep breath again.
    â€œRuby Poet’s,” Dolly said with a bluntness that made me uncomfortable. “You must’ve known Miz Poet, didn’t you?”
    Again, Mrs. Henry had to hold on to the doorjamb. She made a noise and shook her head, as if she were clearing it. “Oh, no,” she said. “So it’s true. Poor Ruby. Oh my. Who would do such a thing to our beloved Ruby? Oh dear. Oh dear.” She put both hands to her mouth and really cried.
    â€œNow, come on, Ma.” Ernie, a short, thick, little man who usually wore overalls with an oily rag sticking from the back pocket, appeared from somewhere behind her and clucked first at her, then at me and Dolly. “Flora Coy called earlier about Miz Poet. Ma’s really upset. Maybe you better come around another time.”
    â€œWell, now, Ernie, could you answer a couple of questions?” Dolly pushed on.
    â€œNeither one of us saw a thing.” Ernie, hanging behind in the shadows, shook his head. Joslyn Henry stepped back. She was bent almost in half, sobbing.
    â€œIf you’d let us in …”
    â€œCome on, Deputy. You can see for yourself this isn’t a good time. I’d better take care of my mother. Miz Poet was her friend. You need to know anything, you come back another day, OK?”
    â€œOf course,” I said, putting a hand on Dolly’s arm. She was pretty stiff and determined.
    â€œWere you out to the road

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