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Authors: Lori Wilde
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asked.
Her blush deepened. “I went over to borrow a cup of sugar one night. I was making strawberry pie and Tim had left his front door open. They was in the living room goin’ at it.”
I looked at Matchstick. “Do you know the blond guy?”
“Saw him once or twice. He looked like one of them professional wrestlers.”
“You never spoke to him?”
Matchstick shook his head. “He had one of them deformed ears like a boxer. What do they call? Some kind a vegetable.”
“Cauliflower?”
“Maybe.” Matchstick frowned. “Though it coulda been cabbage.”
Other neighbors came forward and began to offer their opinions and theories. But I didn’t learn anything more about Tim and his mysterious lover. The conversation degenerated into a dissertation of how best to cook cabbage. Matchstick smacked his lips and sucked on the match extra hard when he talked about how Lindy Sue fried cabbage with black pepper and onions.
After what seemed an eternity, Conahegg finally came back outside.
He shooed the neighbors away and told them he’d send deputies over to talk to them, then he hustled me aside. He shook his head over Tim’s untimely and undignified death, then surprised me by clamping a hand on my shoulder and asking, “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Tim was a nice guy. Why would he want to kill himself? Do you think it had anything to do with getting arrested the other night?”
Conahegg gave me a strange look and removed his hand.
“And why would he hang himself in the nude? Surely he wouldn’t want to be found that way,” I continued.
“I don’t believe that it was intentional,” Conahegg said.
“Beg pardon?”
“Put two and two together, Ally.”
Suddenly the answer hit me. Rope. Neck. Naked.
I felt my hairline heat and knew I was blushing. “Oh,” I muttered. “Autoerotic asphyxiation.”
Conahegg nodded. “That’s my guess, but of course we investigate any unexplained deaths as homicides.”
I might be a country girl but I’m not naive. I’m a nurse for crying out loud. I went to college for four years. I learned about sexual perversions in abnormal psych class. At least in theory.
“Can I go?” I asked, thoroughly embarrassed that I’d been so slow to catch on. Conahegg must think me an unsophisticated hick.
“I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh?”
“Why don’t I take your statement over a soft drink in an air-conditioned diner? The heat’s made you cranky.”
I wanted to say no. I didn’t really want to be alone with Conahegg, but the idea of a tall Dr. Pepper over crushed ice was too much temptation for this sweaty, small town girl.
“I’m buying,” he said.
That cinched the deal. “Okay. My car or yours?”
“Why don’t you follow me?”
And that’s how I ended up sitting across from Conahegg at the Dairy Queen several miles up the road from Andover Bend. The lunch hour had passed so we were the only ones sitting at the red plastic booths.
It felt weird being there with him. Like regular roadside travelers stopping in for a thirst quencher. Like normal folks with normal conversation, not a sheriff and a home health nurse discussing a suicide victim.
“You want something to eat?” Conahegg asked, steepling his fingers in front of him.
I shook my head. “Finding a dead body is kind of an appetite killer.”
“Yeah.” He nodded.
I took a long suck through the straw of my Dr. Pepper, savored the sweet, syrupy taste.
Conahegg had ordered coffee, but he wasn’t drinking it. Avoiding my eye, he took a pen and notepad from his pocket.
“Tell me about finding Tim’s body.”
Were we only going to talk about the business at hand? No mention of the strange attraction surging between us? Probably a good idea. Ignore the bomb on the kitchen table and maybe it’ll disappear on its own.
I cleared my throat and verbally rehashed my steps for him. I was careful to stick to the facts and keep my opinions to myself.
Best to steer clear of
Her blush deepened. “I went over to borrow a cup of sugar one night. I was making strawberry pie and Tim had left his front door open. They was in the living room goin’ at it.”
I looked at Matchstick. “Do you know the blond guy?”
“Saw him once or twice. He looked like one of them professional wrestlers.”
“You never spoke to him?”
Matchstick shook his head. “He had one of them deformed ears like a boxer. What do they call? Some kind a vegetable.”
“Cauliflower?”
“Maybe.” Matchstick frowned. “Though it coulda been cabbage.”
Other neighbors came forward and began to offer their opinions and theories. But I didn’t learn anything more about Tim and his mysterious lover. The conversation degenerated into a dissertation of how best to cook cabbage. Matchstick smacked his lips and sucked on the match extra hard when he talked about how Lindy Sue fried cabbage with black pepper and onions.
After what seemed an eternity, Conahegg finally came back outside.
He shooed the neighbors away and told them he’d send deputies over to talk to them, then he hustled me aside. He shook his head over Tim’s untimely and undignified death, then surprised me by clamping a hand on my shoulder and asking, “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Tim was a nice guy. Why would he want to kill himself? Do you think it had anything to do with getting arrested the other night?”
Conahegg gave me a strange look and removed his hand.
“And why would he hang himself in the nude? Surely he wouldn’t want to be found that way,” I continued.
“I don’t believe that it was intentional,” Conahegg said.
“Beg pardon?”
“Put two and two together, Ally.”
Suddenly the answer hit me. Rope. Neck. Naked.
I felt my hairline heat and knew I was blushing. “Oh,” I muttered. “Autoerotic asphyxiation.”
Conahegg nodded. “That’s my guess, but of course we investigate any unexplained deaths as homicides.”
I might be a country girl but I’m not naive. I’m a nurse for crying out loud. I went to college for four years. I learned about sexual perversions in abnormal psych class. At least in theory.
“Can I go?” I asked, thoroughly embarrassed that I’d been so slow to catch on. Conahegg must think me an unsophisticated hick.
“I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh?”
“Why don’t I take your statement over a soft drink in an air-conditioned diner? The heat’s made you cranky.”
I wanted to say no. I didn’t really want to be alone with Conahegg, but the idea of a tall Dr. Pepper over crushed ice was too much temptation for this sweaty, small town girl.
“I’m buying,” he said.
That cinched the deal. “Okay. My car or yours?”
“Why don’t you follow me?”
And that’s how I ended up sitting across from Conahegg at the Dairy Queen several miles up the road from Andover Bend. The lunch hour had passed so we were the only ones sitting at the red plastic booths.
It felt weird being there with him. Like regular roadside travelers stopping in for a thirst quencher. Like normal folks with normal conversation, not a sheriff and a home health nurse discussing a suicide victim.
“You want something to eat?” Conahegg asked, steepling his fingers in front of him.
I shook my head. “Finding a dead body is kind of an appetite killer.”
“Yeah.” He nodded.
I took a long suck through the straw of my Dr. Pepper, savored the sweet, syrupy taste.
Conahegg had ordered coffee, but he wasn’t drinking it. Avoiding my eye, he took a pen and notepad from his pocket.
“Tell me about finding Tim’s body.”
Were we only going to talk about the business at hand? No mention of the strange attraction surging between us? Probably a good idea. Ignore the bomb on the kitchen table and maybe it’ll disappear on its own.
I cleared my throat and verbally rehashed my steps for him. I was careful to stick to the facts and keep my opinions to myself.
Best to steer clear of
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