Charlaine Harris - Poppy Done to Death

“I was glad to hear your voice on the phone yesterday. I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time.”

“You think I’ve done something illegal?”

“No, I want to date you.”

“I thought you were married, Bryan,” I said, genuinely astonished. Come to think of it, he had mentioned “ex-wife” yesterday.

“I was, for five years. We got divorced over a year ago.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, feeling like he’d just smacked me in the head with a dead fish, or something equally startling. “Well, Bryan, I’m real flattered, but I’ve been dating Robin Crusoe.”

“I know.” He smiled again. His smile managed to be confident, predatory, and hopeful, all at the same time. “But my sources tell me he’s been flirting with Janie Spellman.”

“Ouch,” I said sharply. “That was below the belt. Who’s your source?”

“I’m not bound by law to cover for her. My source is Janie Spellman herself, who is my cousin once removed.”

“Janie is not too particular about whom she flirts with.”

“I’m sorry you’re angry, but you can’t deny it,” Bryan said unequivocally.

“I don’t have to reply any way at all, deny or admit or any which thing.” I glared up at him. “In fact, this part of our conversation is over.” Suddenly, I thought of the gas station receipt in my purse. I couldn’t let anything slip by just because I was irritated with Bryan. “Now, I need to talk business.”

“Talk away.” If I’d in any way ruffled Bryan, he wasn’t letting it show.

I explained about finding the receipt that morning, about its significance, and told him the names of the people who’d been in my house. Then I looked at my watch and exclaimed, “Oh no! I have to be at Poppy’s right now!”

“What for?” Bryan had listened to my account very carefully, which had made me feel better about him.

“The Scene Clean guy is supposed to be at John David and Poppy’s house,” I explained. “Someone called from SPACOLEC to say the house had been… well, released. So I called Zachary Lee and confirmed.”

“I need to see the crime scene anyway. Can I come with you?”

“I guess so,” I said ungraciously. We walked back to the library parking lot and I unlocked my Volvo. Bryan talked about local politics all the way over to Swanson Lane. I felt the touch of his attention every time he looked at me, and he looked at me a lot. My cheeks were hot by the time we parked behind a bright yellow van with scene clean and a logo on the side. At least there were no macabre graphics. I fussed with my keys, yanked at my purse, anything to avoid looking into the eyes of the man beside me. We got out of the car and stood at the end of the walkway leading up to the front door. A young man with Asian features was waiting for us. He was absorbed in a book.

I was nervous about going into the house again. “I’m glad Arthur released the house,” I said, just to say something.

“I’ll bet Arthur has had a rough couple of days,” Bryan said, clearly inviting me to ask why.

“Any murder investigation…” I said slowly. “But that’s not what you’re implying, is it?”

“I’m sure you have heard that Poppy used to see him. A couple of years ago?”

I thought I was going to pass right out. I could actually feel the blood rush from my head. Bryan put his left arm around me and held on to my right hand with his.

“Good God,” I said, trying to gain some time. “But then he should be the last man on earth to be involved in investigating her death!”

Bryan said, “Do you feel all right? Wasn’t he your fiancй at one time?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head to clear it out. “No, we never… Did you do that on purpose? Spring that on me? Why?”

“You did date him.”

“About a million years ago. Way before I married Martin.” I gave him an incredulous look.

“I wondered if Arthur had a thing for the women in your family.”

“You’re confusing me.” I stepped away from his arm and walked up the sidewalk to the door, just as I’d done yesterday. I faltered for a moment as that comparison hit me, then picked up my stride.

Bryan was beside me by then. “Hello,” he said to the young man waiting on the ornamental bench outside Poppy’s front door.

“Zachary Lee?” I asked as he rose. Zachary Lee was much taller than I’d expected, maybe six feet, and looked like a very happy mix of Caucasian and Asian.

“That’s me,” he said happily. “Zachary Lee, Scene Clean, at your service. I’m a certified crime-scene cleaner, and I’ve had extensive experience with the Atlanta Police Department. I took a course to learn how to do this properly, and I follow all safety and health regulations.”

He beamed at us. Apparently, Zachary Lee enjoyed his work.

“Did the police give you the okay?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am, and Mr. Queensland, the husband of the deceased, gave me his permission to do the job. By the way, he said to tell you thanks.” Zachary’s teeth were perfectly straight and white, and his eyes tilted pleasantly when he smiled, which seemed to be most of the time.

“I’m Aurora Teagarden,” I said, “and this is Bryan Pascoe, Mr. Queensland’s lawyer.”

“Pleased to meet you” was said all around.

“Let me just show you the, um, site,” I said, fumbling with the words. “Mr. Pascoe wants to have a look before you clean it. I’ll wait here until you’re through, then lock up after you.”

For the first time, Zachary Lee looked less than happy, probably at the idea of us sitting around the crime scene while he worked. But I wanted to see him off the premises, and just generally keep an eye on him. The young man was probably perfectly all right, but we knew very little about him.

The house had been closed, and it smelled less than wonderful. Poppy would have been embarrassed. There was the awful smell of blood, and the more mundane odor of a much-used litter box. Once again, I was distressed that Moosie hadn’t been found. Somehow, the cat’s disappearance was an insult to Poppy.

“Tell me what you did yesterday when you came in,” Bryan said, and I thought maybe he was distracting me. I was grateful.

“I went upstairs,” I said. “No one was there. I came back down and went toward the kitchen.” I guided him down the short hall into the kitchen, where everything was the same as it had been, except for fingerprint powder. We stepped around the counter, and I waved a hand weakly toward the spot where Poppy had lain. The gesture was hardly necessary. The blood was a powerful testimony. In fact, seeing it like this-dried and dark-made its impact somehow more violent.

While Zachary Lee went over to the sliding glass door to have a look outside, I felt that my head was buzzing just a bit. I put a hand out to Poppy’s breakfast bar, which was laden with bright cookbooks and dried flowers, to steady myself.

Instantly, Bryan steered me out of the kitchen/dining room and into the living room. Instead of depositing me on the couch, he put his arms around me. And he didn’t say a word. His left hand stroked my hair.

I really liked that silence. Robin, since words were his livelihood, never quite seemed to know when they weren’t necessary.

“So, there’s nothing upstairs?” Zachary Lee asked from the doorway.

I began to pull away, but Bryan Pascoe’s arms tightened. “The fingerprint dust,” he said. “No blood.”

“Okay,” the cleanup guy said, happy once again. “Why don’t you two sit out by the pool? It’s a beautiful day. I’ve got to go suit up and bring in my gear.”

Bizarre as it seemed at first, that turned out to be excellent advice. As we walked out the front door and around to the gate at the side of the house (rather than crossing the bloody threshold of the sliding glass door), Bryan gave me rather unnecessary help. I have to confess I enjoyed it, after coping with Phillip and the assorted shocks of the past twenty-four hours. Sometimes I just didn’t understand myself. Half of me wanted to stand upright and independent, and half of me wanted to lean against someone stronger. Possibly the answer could be found in a good partnership, in which one could take turns leaning.