Not twenty minutes later, Doris returned. When she’d said reinforcements, she’d meant it. At least ten women trailed in behind her, complete with aprons and rubber gloves, carrying buckets, mops, sponges, and rags. All of them sported varying shades of red lipstick. It was a good thing I was sitting down on the makeshift seat I’d made of an overturned bucket because the sight of these women was enough to strike fear into the heart of the bravest of men.
Flynn sat on my shoulder, begging for crumbs from the energy bar I was eating, unfazed by the gray army. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Was he preening? I snorted. Figured. Flynn had always been a ladies' man. Present him with a roomful of beauties, and of course, he was going to puff out his chest and try to impress. Sadly, it seemed he’d forgotten that, currently, he was a rat.
“Holly, I’d like you to meet Bernadette Bridge, Vera Cherrington, Carmella Highwater, Ethel Dawes, Gladys Overwith, Valda Collins, Ophelia Paine, Denise Hurt, and the two Ada’s. Ada Rose Bartlett and Ada Florence Holmes. Ladies, meet Holly.”
Doris rattled through the names so quickly they were a blur, but a few of them caught my attention. Denise Hurt? As in, the knees hurt? And Carmella Highwater. Come hell or high water. My brow furrowed. What was it with this town and people’s names? Was it a thing? A requirement of living here?
One of the Adas bobbed in a curtesy, making me smile. “What was your last name, dear? Is it Smith, like your uncle?”
“Great uncle, and no. My last name is Day.”
Doris clapped. “Holly Day! Adorable.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I grumbled beneath my breath. No one heard because the average age of my group of helpers had to be seventy at the very least. I suspected they’d all been dying to get a stickybeak inside of John Smith’s home as they nudged each other and contemplated the job at hand.
“Ladies, ladies,” Doris shouted over the din of ten elderly women all talking at once and exclaiming what an utter dump the place was and how they’d had no idea. “Divide and conquer. This is to be Holly’s home, and we can’t have her living in these conditions. It’s up to us to do our neighborly duty and show Holly that she is welcome here.”
“Welcome, Holly,” one of the women, I couldn’t recall her name, maybe Denise, said. She held up the cleaning basket she was holding. “I clean the mayor’s offices, and the library, a little dust and dirt is no problem.” We were dealing with a little more than dust and dirt, but I kept my thoughts to myself. No need to kill their enthusiasm.
“What about the furniture?” one of the Adas asked, pointing to the disgusting sofa and armchair. Doris tapped her lip as if considering that we could actually save them somehow. All the bleach in the world would not convince me to sit on either of them.
“I say we drag them outside and burn them,” I said from my position on the overturned bucket. “Nice night for a bonfire, right?”
Ada beamed in delight. “Yay!” She clapped. “We haven’t had a fire in ages. How exciting.”
“What will Holly sit on, though? If we burn her furniture?” the other Ada chimed in.
“Not to worry, I have it covered. The deputy is dropping by with some camping equipment for us to borrow,” Doris said.
“You recruited the deputy to help as well? In what?” I glanced at my watch. “Under half an hour?”
“You’ll come to learn that I’m a very resourceful woman, Holly Day.”
“Please.” I grimaced. “Just Holly.” I’d prefer Twitch, but that was off-limits until this whole sorry mess was sorted.
While the women got busy dragging out items for the bonfire, scrubbing floors and walls, and boxing up John’s personal things for me to go through later, I planted myself at the kitchen sink and began the tedious task of scrubbing what remained of my great uncle’s cutlery and crockery, such as it was. Nothing matched, half of it was broken, and the remaining half had to be decades old. Flynn figured the best vantage point was my shoulder, and since I’d feel bad if he got stepped on, I allowed it. I was getting used to having him around but quickly learned to establish a few boundaries. No following me into the bathroom, and steer clear of the boobage.
“Knock, knock,” a woman’s voice called from the front of the house.
“Come on through,” I called back. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Up to my elbows in suds, I looked up to see the deputy walk in, hand resting loosely on the holster at her hip.
“Hi,” I said, eyeing her up and down. I hadn’t expected the deputy to be a woman for some reason. Sexist, I know, but in a town this size, I’d just assumed the law enforcement contingent would all be male. But this deputy was very much of the female persuasion, ample curves threatening to pop the buttons of her shirt, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail beneath her hat. I put her to be in her late twenties at the very least.
“You must be Holly.” She nodded in greeting. “I’m deputy Laura Biden. Just call me Laura. I’ve got a few things to help you out while you get settled. They’re just in the back of my truck. Where do you want them?”
“What are they?”
“A fold-up camping chair, a cot, bedding.”
“The living room will be fine. I’ll set up camp in there for now until I get the rest of the house sorted.” We’d basically stripped the living room of all furniture except for the television and a massive bookcase that was sturdy and worth saving. I’d go through the books crammed onto the shelves later. The filthy old rug covering the floor had been rolled up and dragged outside, leaving the floorboards bare.
“Heck of a job.”
“Actually, you might be able to tell me something. Did John die here? In the house? Specifically in the armchair or bed?”
What I can only describe as surprise passed across her face before she schooled her features. “You don’t know?”
I frowned. “Where he died? No. I don’t. We were estranged. I wasn’t aware I had a great uncle at all until the lawyers found me.”
“And they didn’t tell you how he died?” she pressed.
I froze. Flynn clutched a strand of hair for balance, stood on his hind legs, and sniffed the air, whiskers twitching. “How he died?”
“I’m surprised none of the welcoming committee told you.” Laura shook her head, running a hand around the nape of her neck as if annoyed that she was the one who had to deliver the news. Whatever the news was, I suspected it wasn’t good.
“Just tell me,” I prompted, removing my hands from the sink and tugging off the yellow rubber gloves.
“John Smith killed himself.”
Wow. Had not been expecting that. “How?”
“Hung himself.”
I automatically glanced up at the ceiling.
“Not here. Out back.” Laura pointed out the grimy window above the sink.
“In the shed?” The back yard was in worse shape than the front, weeds shoulder height. However, the committee of women who’d come to help had beaten down a path and was dumping rubbish and ruined furniture in a pile away from the house, ready for the bonfire. To the right was a shed, big enough to house a car. Which reminded me I should check if John had a set of wheels I could use.
“No. The tree.”
The cedar elm in question was massive, towering over the shed, its branches reaching the house. Any of its branches would easily have held the weight of a swinging body. Although it was quite the feat for a seventy-year-old to heave himself up into the tree with a rope around his neck.
“Are you okay?” Laura asked, taking a step closer, clearly worried I was upset about the demise of my great uncle.
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “I mean, yeah, it’s sad and all, but I didn’t know him. At all. I didn’t know a single thing about him.”
“Your mom didn’t tell you anything?”
“My mom died when I was eighteen,” I lied smoothly. “And up until that point, she hadn’t mentioned once that she had family. As far as I knew, she was an only child, orphaned at five, and grew up in foster homes.” The lie wasn’t too far from the truth. My mom did die. Only I’d been eight, and I was the one who grew up in foster homes.
“Regardless. I’m sorry for your loss.” But her eyes weren’t on me. They were on Flynn. “I’m not sure if you’re aware,” she said, hand slowly reaching for her gun, “but you have a rodent on your shoulder.”
“Don’t shoot!” I urged, holding out a hand to stop her. “He’s my pet. He’s harmless.” Flynn tensed at my words, annoyed that I’d described him as my pet and doubly outraged that he was a non-threat. In human form, he was formidable. Had to be when you were an SIA agent. As a wolf shifter, he was practically indestructible. But now, when he was the size of his own hand? Not so much.
Laura remained frozen, eyes on the rat who stood taller and eyeballed her, refusing to back down. “Flynn. Quit it,” I whispered out the corner of my mouth. He shot me a look, shook his head, then turned his attention back to the deputy.
Slowly, she released her grip on her gun, which fell back into its holster with an audible thunk. “Sorry,” she muttered, straightening her shoulders. “I’ve never met anyone who keeps a rodent as a pet. Usually, we exterminate them. I’ll just go get those things for you and be on my way.”
She hightailed it out of the kitchen before I could say another word, but I caught the red in her cheeks as she passed through the doorway and knew she was uncomfortable about Flynn’s presence. Minutes later, I heard the clatter as she dumped the camping gear in the living room, then called out a farewell.
“Bye. Thanks!” I belatedly replied, doubting she heard me over the rumble of her truck as it pulled away.
“She couldn’t get out of here quick enough,” I said to Flynn, who nodded his head in agreement, then shot down my back and jumped, launching himself off my butt to land with the grace of a gymnast on the floor. He shot me a look over his shoulder before scurrying out of the kitchen and into the living room, no doubt to check out what the deputy had delivered.
“If I find you napping in there,” I called out, “there will be hell to pay.”
“Who are you talking to?” Doris stepped inside, her cheeks flushed from the heat. I chewed my lip, it having only just dawned on me that I had nearly a dozen senior citizens doing manual labor in the heat of the day. These conditions couldn’t be good for any of them.
“My pet rat. Flynn,” I answered absently, glancing out the window above the sink. I could just make out a few figures tossing items on the bonfire pile through the filthy pane. The rest of the women had to be inside, either in the living room or upstairs. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts while scrubbing the dirty dishes that I’d failed to keep track of them. Not even a full day in Gravestone, and I was losing my touch.
“You have a rat? Cool! Where is he?” Doris began scouring the floor to see if she could spot him.
“He’s in the living room, probably checking out the gear the deputy just dropped off. He’s gray and white, wearing a harness.” I probably should have told the women earlier about Flynn’s presence. Still, they hadn’t noticed him when they’d first arrived, despite him sitting on my shoulder, and I hadn’t thought of it afterward. “Is everyone okay?” I chewed my lip and glanced outside again. “It’s sweltering today.”
Doris waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, they’re fine. We’re used to it.”
I wasn’t convinced. “Maybe we should take a break?” The last thing I needed was one of them keeling over. Harding had told me, multiple times, to keep a low profile. Having a senior citizen pass out from heatstroke would not be what he considered a low profile.
“I’ll hand out some drinks,” Doris said, heading to the cooler she’d brought with her earlier. I watched her pull out a bottle of water and a stack of dixie cups. Had they been in the cooler all along? I hadn’t noticed them when I’d helped myself to a drink while waiting for Doris and her crew.
“Maybe we should work on the fridge next,” Doris suggested. “This cooler won’t hold you for long.”
“Actually, that’s something I noticed,” I said, hobbling across to the mustard-colored fridge. “The power is on. Was it never disconnected? Or did someone know I was coming and had it reconnected?” In which case, I must thank them.
Doris shrugged. “Can’t help you there, I’m afraid. But maybe be careful when you open that door, hmmm? If the power has been off for any length of time, then whatever is in that fridge is probably a gloopy mess.”
I stopped my forward momentum and took a step back. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
Before I could stop her, Doris zipped across the floor—she was remarkably agile for a woman of her vintage—and flung open the door. The light inside illuminated an almost empty fridge. No decomposing sludge to be seen. She turned and beamed at me in delight. “There you go! All good. I’ll just give it a quick wipe-down. We’ll toss that old milk carton and whatever is hiding in the back.”
“I can do that,” I offered, feeling guilty that not only had I hesitated over the prospect of a stinky fridge, but I’d let an old woman handle it. “You’ve done so much for me already.”
“Nonsense.” She slammed the fridge door shut with such force the whole thing shuddered. “You need to go sit down. You should be resting that foot, not walking around on it.”
I allowed her to usher me into the living room, where she deftly unfolded the camping chair and guided me into it. Guided was probably too polite. Shoved me into it was more apt. I got the sense that it was useless arguing with Doris Shutt once she’d turned her mind to something.