Dead Right (Stillwater Trilogy #3)(84)
Author: Brenda Novak

For Madeline’s sake he hoped it was true. Hoped he was wrong about the Montgomerys. That the whole town had been wrong.

Unzipping his parka, Hunter took a deep breath and finally climbed the four rickety steps to Ray’s door, where he knocked loudly.

No response.

He banged on the cheap metal panel once again.

An old Buick was parked in the narrow carport beside the trailer. The sight of it had led him to believe Ray might be home, but when Hunter gave up knocking and went over to the vehicle, he could see that the front left side was up on blocks.

Just as he was about to get back in Madeline’s car to search elsewhere for Ray Harper, the neighbor, a tall thin woman with a cigarette dangling from her mouth, came out wearing a robe and slippers and carrying a bag of trash.

“Hey,” he called. “You haven’t seen Ray this morning have you?”

“No.” She paused to remove her cigarette. “He usually sleeps in.”

From the look of the woman’s mussed hair, she’d just rolled out of bed herself. “What does he drive?”

She hesitated, studying him. “You’re the investigator fella.”

“That’s right.”

Her face lit with interest. “You findin’ anything?”

“Apparently not this morning. Can you tell me what Ray drives?” he asked again.

She seemed a little crestfallen that he wasn’t more forthcoming, but she answered him. “A Dodge truck. If it’s not in Bubba’s carport, he’s probably gone to church.”

“Bubba’s carport?”

“Bubba Turk.” She motioned with the hand that held the cigarette. “Lives on the other side. Least he did. Poor guy had a heart attack and died this weekend.”

Madeline had mentioned Bubba’s death. It had really upset her. “Why would Ray be using Bubba’s carport?” he asked.

She tilted her chin toward the broken-down Buick. “Until he gets rid of that piece of junk, he has no place else to park. The streets are already so crowded in here he finally arranged it so I’d quit complaining. But he still pulls up front half the time,” she said in disgust.

“Didn’t Bubba have his own car?”

Her lips twisted into a pained grimace. “You’ve never met Bubba, have you?”

He shook his head.

“Bubba weighed over 500 pounds and couldn’t fit behind the wheel. He didn’t even have a driver’s license.”

Five hundred pounds? No wonder he’d had a heart attack. “Did he live alone?”

“Except for his cat and his spider. But his sister came around once or twice a week to see if he needed anything.”

“You don’t happen to have her contact information, do you?”

“Sorry. She lives in Iuka, though. I know that much. You could see if she’s listed.”

“What’s her name?”

“Helen Salazar.”

“Thanks,” Hunter said with a wave. “Appreciate it.”

A row of trees shielded his view of Bubba Turk’s carport. He started to walk toward it, but the neighbor who’d helped him called out before he’d gotten very far.

“Don’t go too close,” she warned.

“Why not?”

“Smells awful. Who would’ve thought the stench would linger like that?” She grimaced as she shoved her garbage into the large outdoor container, then went back inside her mobile home.

It did smell bad, Hunter noticed as he reached the trailer. He’d been under the impression that they’d found the body fairly soon after Bubba’s death and transported it to the funeral home. But he was beginning to wonder if the hearse had yet to show up. Only death smelled like this.

The carport was empty, which meant Ray was gone.

Hunter tried to open Bubba’s mobile home to see what was causing the cloying stench, but the door was locked. It didn’t seem to be coming from inside the house, anyway. It seemed to be coming from—he walked around the place, trying to narrow it down—a small shed behind the carport.

Holding his breath, Hunter opened the flimsy shed door. There were no windows, and it was too dark to see. But he was fairly sure he’d discovered the source of the stench, especially when he had to take a breath and the next inhalation nearly caused his stomach to revolt.

What had happened here?

Pulling the chain on the bulb overhead, he leaned in and looked around. There, behind the door, was a black garbage bag. With the handle of a broom, he nudged the opening wide enough to see inside.

It was a dead cat.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Is Madeline with you?”

It was Clay. Hunter held his cell phone with his right hand while carrying the garbage bag with his left. He’d knotted the top, but that didn’t help much. The cat’s remains had begun to liquefy and it was all he could do not to gag.

“No. I haven’t seen her since this morning.” Since he’d left her bed. But he wasn’t about to share that detail with a protective older brother. Hunter felt guilty enough about their involvement. Despite what she’d done to instigate their physical encounters, he knew Madeline wasn’t the type to take intimacy lightly. “Why?”

“She knows.”

Hunter lifted the lid of Bubba’s garbage can. It was empty, so there was plenty of room. But what if no one remembered to put it out on garbage day? Then the smell would get worse. And he didn’t want Bubba’s relatives to be faced with something as nasty as this when they came back to clean out his trailer. Losing a loved one was bad enough.

“Knows what?” he asked, changing direction and heading for Ray’s garbage can instead.

“Everything.”

The gravity in Clay’s voice made Hunter stop, despite what he was holding.

“You mean she knows who killed her father?”

There was a long pause, but Clay finally answered. “Yes.”

Hunter could hardly believe the secret was out. After twenty years…“What makes you think so?”

“She confronted my mother, then hung up. We’re at her house now, but she’s gone.”

Hunter set the cat on the ground and turned his face downwind. “What about her cell phone?”

“She doesn’t answer.”

“I’ll check the office.”

“Grace has already been there. It’s locked up.”

“Where else would she go?”

“Kirk’s.”

A jab of hostility almost made Hunter say, “She wouldn’t go there.” But he bit his tongue. “Has anyone looked?”