Free Better Homes and Corpses by Kathleen Bridge Page A

doctor.”
    “I wasn’t planning to drug her—I was . . . uh, looking for some Tylenol. I have a headache.”
    “Dr. Greene’s on his way. You can get to work now. Ms. Warner’s arrived. She’s in the front salon.”
    “I can’t work like this!” My body was crusted with mud and my hair matted into Edward Scissorhands spikes.
    “Are you left-handed?”
    “No, lucky for you.” I was blown away by his concern.
    “Here. I’ll give you something of Jillian’s.” I followed him into the bedroom. He walked to the closet and pulled out a nondescript beige blouse with a Peter Pan collar and apair of taupe pants. Jillian remained prone on the bed, oblivious to the swearing and clothes-swapping going on in the background.
    “These won’t fit. She must be a size two.”
    “I’ll give you something of mine. Stay here. I don’t want to leave her alone.”
    The rain had stopped, but the sky was still dark. I sat on the window seat and looked out the window. Cole’s dog was attached to a long chain anchored in the middle of an empty koi pond. He limped in a circle like a giant traveling compass. I had a slight stab of admiration for a man who would befriend a three-legged dog. I was so hypnotized by Tripod’s orbicular path, I flinched when Cole put his hand on my shoulder. He pushed a gray sweatshirt and matching sweatpants against my chest. “Why don’t you use the shower.” He pointed to Jillian’s bathroom door. “I’ll watch her.”
    After a two-minute shower, I changed into Cole’s sweats. They were soft and smelled of fabric softener. On the front of the sweatshirt was a drawing of a large antebellum mansion perched on an island surrounded by water. Below the drawing it read:
The Plantation, Oak Island, North Carolina.
    I opened the bathroom door ready to face the day, only to come nose to nose, or more like chin to nose, with the diminutive Detective Shoner.
    “Whoa, excuse me.” Detective Shoner overplayed a shocked look. Then he glanced at Cole. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
    My face heated.
    Cole shrugged. “Who called you, Detective?”
    Detective Shoner’s squat body was sausaged into an expensive European-cut trench coat. “I’m here on official business. I saw the crazy way the Jeep was parked on thefront walk and rang the bell. No one came, so I opened the door, saw all the muddy footprints, and followed them. Thought something was going on.” He looked over at Jillian on the bed. “Was I right?”
    “Jillian had a scare. Got lost in the storm.”
    Cole stayed mute.
    Detective Shoner walked to the bed and fumbled for the net’s opening.
    Jillian squirmed and let out a stifled moan.
    “It’s all right, Jillian. It’s me, Detective Shoner. Did someone frighten you? Do you remember anything?”
    Jillian sat up and rubbed her fists across her eyes. Here I was, freshly showered, while Jillian resembled a street urchin from a Dickens novel. “No . . . I didn’t see anything. The storm scared me.” She fell back among the pillows.
    I went to Jillian. The gauze closed around us like a butterfly net and Detective Shoner and Cole peered in, as if ready for dissection. “Jillian, why don’t you go take a shower. I’ll wait here,” I whispered into her ear.
    Just then Dr. Greene came into the room and made a beeline for Jillian. “Ms. Barrett, could you please bring me a glass of water?”
    I went into the bathroom, filled a glass, walked back and handed it to Dr. Greene. He took out a bottle of pills from inside his jacket pocket and handed Jillian two large pink ones. Jillian ignored the water and swallowed them dry.
    Leaving Jillian with Dr. Greene, I followed Cole and Detective Shoner down the stairs. Cole stopped at a mahogany-paneled door, ushered Detective Shoner in, and closed the door without a backward glance.
    I reparked the Jeep at the side of the house, retrieved my briefcase, and went into the front salon. Elle was on the sofa with the insurance photos