Free Murder in the Wings by Ed Gorman Page A

things out upstairs."
    "Like what?"
    "Like somebody went through several of the rooms up there and turned everything inside out. Looks like a bomb hit it."
    I started the car and pulled away.
    "Aren't we going to check it out, Dwyer?" she asked as I headed down the road.
    "Yeah. But we've got to find someplace to hide until we see the doctor leave."
    "Oh, yeah, right. Good thinking." She had the pure enthusiasm of a sixteen-year-old.
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    "S o I just told Chad to leave me alone. I mean, there wasn't much he could say after he handed me a ring and I led him into the bathroom and made him watch me flush it down the toilet."
    The subject was Chad, her ex-husband.
    A few months ago she'd gone to Mexico on a lonely vacation to forget him. I'd been skeptical about the results, but apparently it had worked. Oh, Chad, who had dumped her for a younger woman and had then changed his mind, Chad was still around, calling her more frequently than her mother, making the sorts of promises that only somebody who has the looks of Robert Redford and the personality of John Davidson can make. She genuinely seemed to be working him out of her life. Lately, I'd even felt some pity for the bastard. I don't really wish heartbreak on anybody. I was there once myself. I lost thirty pounds and more than a little dignity.
    "So he hasn't called for nearly a whole week," she said.
    "Gosh. Ma Bell must be getting nervous."
    "God, Dwyer, look."
    A black Buick, the sort of car monsignors always drove back in the era of Bishop Sheen, came up to the asphalt, paused, and then proceeded north.
    We sat with the motor off in a grove of white birches just off the highway. If Dr. Kern saw us, he didn't let on.
    "Great," she said, "now we can go back to the cabin."
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    W e stood in the open area in front of the fireplace, looking around. The place still smelled sweetly of log smoke. The leather furniture needed dusting, the kitchen sink contained some unwashed dishes, and sections of the bookcases needed straightening. But all the same I'd have lived there if they asked me. The freezer alone, over in the kitchen area, must have cost more than my Honda. You could have gotten several head of cattle in it. Live ones.
    "You want to start upstairs?" Donna said.
    "Sure. Why not?"
    She looked at me. "Boy, Dwyer, you don't seem very up."
    "Three days of rain. It's starting to get to me."
    Then she said, quite seriously, "You're being selfish. I've never seen you be selfish before." She leaned over and kissed me tenderly on the mouth. "Think of Wade out there. Think what he must be going through. He's not sure if he's a murderer or not. We have to help him."
    I followed her, pretty much down on myself (so it's raining, big fucking deal; the homeless and hungry and malformed of the world probably have it a bit tougher than I do). When we came to the top of the stairs, Donna stopped and peered into a large den-like room and said, "He cleaned it up."
    I glanced in. "This was the room that was tossed?"
    She nodded.
    "No wonder he had the shotgun," I said. "He probably figured we were the vandals coming back-for a second round."
    She led the way inside.
    "You think we should look around?" she said.
    "Wouldn't hurt."
    She gave me a half-scowl. "C'mon, Dwyer, you still sound morose."
    I put on fake cheesy smile. "Gee, Donna, I'd love to search this room."
    "That's better."
    "Up yours."
    "I heard that."
    "I meant for you to hear that."
    "What an asshole."
    We set to work. The first twenty minutes I found nothing interesting. Medical journals filled some drawers; shirts, socks, and underwear filled others. The daybed in the corner, covered with a spread and tossed with colorful pillows, was apparently where Dr. Kern slept. That made sense; the other rooms all had bunk beds, for patients, I assumed.
    Then Donna said, "Boy, Dwyer, come over here." At the end of the daybed was a big wicker trunk. She had the lid up and was stacking stuff on the floor.
    I knelt next to her, pecking