Catherine Coulter - Born To Be Wild

And why should it? Mary Lisa thought. “Okay, you guys, you’ve got ten minutes to get dressed, then we’re out of here.”

THEthree women arrived at Marci Maynard’s house as the sun was burning away the lacy gray morning fog. Mary Lisa rang the doorbell.

They heard a dog barking, but no one appeared at the door.

After several more fruitless tries, Elizabeth said, “Any ideas, Mary Lisa?”

“Why, yes. We can go see Mick.”

He wasn’t in his shop, not a surprise since it was Saturday morning, but his assistant manager, Hop Clooney, was there, looking older than the antique Corvette hubcaps displayed on the walls. “Well, now, it seems Mick caught a tetch of something, sounded pretty putrid when he called me a couple hours ago. Meybe he’ll be back tomorrow. Better be-I need him to work on that big Caddy back there.” He shrugged. “I see you’re driving a rental from the airport. What’s the problem with it?”

“Not a thing, Hop, we’re trying to locate Mick. Thanks for the info.”

“So we can go to his house,” Mary Lisa said as they walked out of the shop. She went into Buckman’s Pharmacy, borrowed Mr. Clive’s phone book, and looked up Mick Maynard’s address.

Mick Maynard’s repair shop might have appealed to car aficionados, but his home looked like all it needed was a banged-up car set on bricks to finish off the ratty front yard. It sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, Martindale Lane, backed up against a hillock, hidden by pine and hemlock trees. The nearest neighbor was a good block away.

Elizabeth looked at the rusted machinery parts strewn around the car, unable to identify them, and said, “If I were a guy and I managed to snag a woman for some hankypanky, I’d for sure go to her house, not here. I wouldn’t think seeing this dump site would be a positive first step toward a meaningful relationship.”

Lou Lou and Mary Lisa laughed. Mary Lisa said, “It is pretty bad, isn’t it? One thing you gotta say about it, though-lots of privacy.”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth said slowly, “this guy could do about anything he wanted to out here.”

There was an old banged-up Chevy truck sitting next to a well-kept Camry in the driveway, a clean, bright blue. Marci’s car? Very likely. “I guess Marci doesn’t mind the hoedown front yard since she’s here. I wonder if she spent the night.”

Lou Lou said, “That’s why Mick called in with the putrid throat. Morning sex.”

“That seems pretty cold,” Elizabeth said, “what with her mother sedated in bed, suspected of murdering her father.”

They walked up the weed-infested path to the front of the 1940s bungalow. It was a single story with a small footprint, probably considered quaint and charming thirty years ago, but tired and run-down now, in need of fresh flowers and paint. The draperies were drawn over the wide front window and the two narrow windows beside it. Mary Lisa marched up to the front door and banged loudly.

She banged again, at least half a dozen times.

Finally they heard a shout. “Hey, what do you want? Go away!”

Lou Lou murmured, “He sounds a bit testy.”

Mary Lisa pounded some more. “Let him.”

The door flew back. Mick Maynard stood in the doorway, his jeans looking like he’d just pulled them on, the zipper halfway up, the button at the waist unfastened. He wasn’t wearing jockeys or anything else under the jeans, just his muscular body, a bit of black chest hair, and a thick morning beard. He scratched his belly, drawing their eyes down to his fingers, and slowly, let a grin-no, a smirk-replace his pissed-off look. “Well, ladies, to what do I owe this pleasure? Are you from the PTA, here for a contribution? Or maybe you’re a very late welcome wagon?”

“I’m Mary Lisa Beverly. Hop said you called in sounding all putrid. You’re some fast healer.”

The smirk was in full bloom. “To get better, all one needs is proper motivation.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s true. We’re here to see Marci. Is she here?”

“Oh yeah, I know who you are-Little Miss Soap Opera Star. Why do you want to speak to her? What the hell do you have to do with anything? Where’s the police chief?” He stepped out on the front porch and glanced around, stepped back. “Just you three little piggies here to see the big bad wolf?” He laughed. “No, I guess that’s Jack, isn’t it?” He turned, shouted, “Marci, we’ve got some ladies from the Junior League here who want to interrogate you.” Then, suddenly, he twisted back to them, and without another word, he slammed the door in their faces. They heard it lock. Mary Lisa would swear she heard him laugh.

“Well,” Lou Lou said to the dump of a yard, “at least he has very nice abs, don’t you think?”

Mary Lisa kicked at a hubcap next to the overgrown path. “This doesn’t happen in the movies.”

Elizabeth said, “It’s too bad we’re civilians, so we can’t exactly cuff him or force our way in. What do we do now, Mary Lisa?”

“Well, there’s still Olivia Hildebrand. I really do want to talk to her about my mother.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Elizabeth said.

The Hildebrand house was a pale yellow gem set in an upper-middle-class neighborhood with wide yards, well maintained and lovingly tended. Deputy Susan Randall opened the door on the first knock. “Mary Lisa! What are you doing here?” She stared around Mary Lisa at Elizabeth and Lou Lou.

“Hi, Susan.” Mary Lisa quickly introduced Susan to Lou Lou and Elizabeth. “Do you think it’s possible for us to speak to Mrs. Hildebrand for a couple of minutes?”

“Well, I don’t know, Mary Lisa. I mean, the chief didn’t say anything about your coming-”

“She and my mom are so very close, Susan, you know that. I mean, my mom visited her last night, right? I wanted to check on her, you know, see how she’s feeling.”

Elizabeth gently and slowly pushed forward, making Deputy Randall back up. “I know it’s a huge favor, but Mary Lisa really is worried about her mother. She’s been going through all this with her, as you know.”

“Well, yeah, I guess it’d be all right. But not long, okay? She still might be asleep. She hasn’t come down yet.”

Mary Lisa realized she’d never before been in the Hildebrand house. Through all the years, Olivia had always been the one to visit her mother. They stopped in the middle of the large entryway with a skylight two stories overhead.

Mary Lisa supposed she was upstairs in the master bedroom. Without asking, they all headed for the main staircase and took them up two at a time.

She looked down at Deputy Randall, who was standing next to another female deputy Mary Lisa recognized but didn’t know. She smiled at both of them, gave a little wave. Then she knocked lightly on the door, and opened it.

She wished she hadn’t.

No one screamed. They stood in the doorway, staring at Olivia Hildebrand hanging from one of the beautifully painted oak ceiling beams, a vanity chair on its side beneath her.

Mary Lisa ran to her and lifted her by her thighs as best she could to relieve the awful pressure twisting her neck. She wasn’t going to let her die. She heaved the woman up, felt the taut rope ease. “Lou Lou, Elizabeth, quick, help me get her down. Hurry!”

Elizabeth turned over the chair Mrs. Hildebrand had stood on and then had kicked away, and climbed up on it. “No, I still can’t reach the knot.” She felt for a pulse in Mrs. Hildebrand’s throat, knowing there wouldn’t be one. Elizabeth hadn’t seen violent death since she’d covered a bank robbery in Venice Beach nearly a year before, but she knew that, now as then, this human being was dead and there was nothing to do for her except to help protect her dignity. Her throat felt dry and cool, too cool. She looked at Mary Lisa’s set face, her arms still around Mrs. Hildebrand’s legs, and back at Lou Lou, who seemed frozen, her eyes filled with horror. “I’m sorry, guys, she’s dead. Her skin’s chilled. She’s been dead a long time.” She climbed back down, laid her hand lightly on Mary Lisa’s shoulder, but Mary Lisa was shaking her head.