Page 20 of Death on Riddle Road
He looked over my shoulder.When I turned, I saw a woman coming toward me from the back of the house.
She was the kind of woman who looked better now, in her early forties, than she had as a younger woman.And she wouldn’t have been bad then.
Now, she wore her hair — blonde with enough dark showing underneath to say it wasn’t natural and she didn’t care who knew it — smooth from a side part and curving slightly at the bottom as it hit her collarbone.A navy-blue sweater vee’d just below that, with a short necklace inside the V and a longer one below it.That brought a lot of focus to her bustline without being so crass as to show cleavage.Sweater and necklaces layered over a longer t-shirt and tan moto skinnies restrained to chunky zipper detail at the hip pockets.
I’d had enough style consultations during the years operating as the public face ofAbandon Allto recognize how well her outfit was put together and the quality of the components.
These days I might wear something like this — complete with the necklaces, suitable earrings, and a pop-of-color orange bracelet — for lunch at the country club.If I ever went to lunch at the country club.She apparently wore it around the house.
Had the woman no torn jeans and oversized flannel shirts?
“Robbie?”Her voice was calm, but questioning.When he reoriented his position to her, revealing his girlfriend, she added, “Mamie?”
“Dova, this is Clara and Sheila,” the girl said.“They know all about murder and crime and stuff.They’re going to help.”
All aboutwas quite the exaggeration.Now, however, was not a propitious time to mention that.
Besides, I was busy taking in Dova Dorrio.
At that first glance, she had the bland attractiveness of a certain kind of political wife, often seen half a step behind the husband and stoic through news conferences about the man’s infidelities.(Have you ever noticed the wife is seldom called on to be a prop when the man is admitting or denying other misdeeds?)
But her mouth had a firm set, with puppet lines starting from her nose toward her mouth and from her mouth toward her chin.They’re called that because they resemble the hinge lines of old-fashioned puppets.But the term has always struck me as odd, because I associate them with people who are anything but puppets.
Mamie hadn’t finished extolling our skills.
“Clara helped me before — Clara and Sheila.When the woman was murdered right by the flower shop.They figured it all out when nobody else could.”She looked up at Robbie.“And helped with other things.”
I interpreted that to mean the young couple confided in Dova about the earlier murder investigation, but not about how they’d kept their relationship a secret and sneaked around to see each other without the grownups knowing for a while.
Priorities, you know.
“And now,” Mamie continued, “they can help figure out things about your father.”
Robbie scoffed.“I had no father.”I barely had time to wonder if that sentiment stemmed from Derrick killing Jaylynn, before Robbie added with suppressed vehemence, “He didn’t want to see me.”
“That’s not fair, Robbie.”Dova was firm without scolding.“You know he wanted to spare you trips to the prison and all that entailed—”
“You went.You could do it.So could I.”He bit it off as he jerked his head away to stare at a far corner of the office.“It doesn’t matter.He’s dead.And that ends it.”
“Not when it’s murder,” I said.
“They’ll realize their mistake soon.”Dova’s smooth words deflected my blunt use ofmurderbefore Robbie reacted.“And then it will be ended, for good.”
I could see why Dova being upset at the hospice facility this morning rattled Mamie.It was hard to imagine this woman not being in control of herself.
“Doesn’t matter, anyway.The sheriff’s department doesn’t care,” Robbie said.
“The sheriff’s department does care,” I said.
He gave me that look teenagers are so good at that said I was either unaware of the true ways of the world that he, from his superior knowledge and experience, did recognize or lying.Or both.
In fairness, he did have superior knowledge and experience in being the son of a convicted murderer.Also in being the biological son of a murder victim.
In case I didn’t get the gist of that look, he said, “Yeah, right.They’re not going to risk opening the door to anybody looking into how badly they screwed up the investigation into that other murder.”
A distant way to refer to his mother’s death, I thought fleetingly, but was more focused on the rest of his statement.Because here I had superior knowledge.Especially about Teague O’Donnell and how he viewed his job.
“They will investigate thoroughly—”
