D.K. Mort--Zombie Detective [COMPLETED]

Part II

Follow the profit is always my rule. Who got something out of the deal? Well, the obvious one is wifey number two and the other was the hornball hubby. Took the long bus ride out to the ritzy neighbourhood address Miss Calhoun gave me. Didn’t want to tip the broad off, so I just banged on the door to see who answered.

Lucky me. No maid. The blond bombshell that opened the door fit the description that Miss C. gave me. I stuck my foot in the door like an insurance agent.

“Hi there. Are you Mrs. Deanna Dexter?”

“Who else?” she snapped. Of course, how often did suit-wearing Zombies in red sneakers show up at her door? “What do you want?”

“Well, I’m from the department of Zombie affairs. Mr. Wally Henson. That’s with an “e” not an “a”. “Heeeeenson.” New affirmative action program, you know. I was wondering if I could inspect the premises to see if all the living arrangements for your household staff are up to regulation? If it’s inconvenient for you, I could come back.” I opened my briefcase and shuffled around some papers. Looked expectant.

“Is this some kind of surprise inspection? Nobody called.”

“Well ma’am, I was in the neighbourhood and thought, if you don’t mind, a random inspection might prove how well your family is treating their property. It would be a stronger case for our department about...ahem…” I looked concerned, “any accusations of impropriety that might have…” I winked, “worked their way across my desk lately. We wouldn’t want such rumours to gain legitimacy would we?”

She let me in.

I grabbed a clipboard and fountain pen out of my briefcase and shoved a pair of John Lennon glasses on my nose. I asked her where the Zombies slept. She showed me slapped up drywall partitions in a damp basement passing for rooms with a coupla saggy mattresses in each one.

“Ah, I clucked. “How many Zombies are presently working here?”

“Six”

“Oh dear. Legally they must have a bed each.”

“Well, two of them work nights.”

“I’ll overlook that this time, ma’am. As long as you fix it within thirty days.” I carried on the charade, asking the standard useless social worker questions she was expecting. I couldn’t help but notice her perfume, a custom-made exotic patchouli blend. For some weird reason when you die, your sense of smell improves. Uh oh. Don’t even think getting a boner with a Normie. I mentally kicked myself back into shape but not fast enough.

“Well,” she throatily murmured, “Are we done now?” Oh shit.

“Baby, we haven’t even started.” I shoulda slapped myself right in the mouth. I was buying more trouble than a boatload of broadswords for self-decapitation. Great. One of those crazy dames with a necro fetish. And I walked right into it.

“Why don’t you come back and, “she stroked her fingernails down my arm, “see me tomorrow when the kids are at school?”

“I could do that, my hours are,” I ran my thumb across her wrist; “pretty flexible, even if not all of me is flexible, hey, hey, hey.” Well, information is information I told myself. And I’d get a helluva lot more of it if I hooked this Normie fish tomorrow morning. Amazing how alive or dead, men get stupid with a stiffy.

So home I went. Stared around. Considered picking the cockroaches off the wall and tossing them with garlic for an entrée but it was too much work. Got out a hunk of raw hamburger, threw in a cold can of mushroom soup and ate it. Next thing I knew, the door was banging off the hinges.

I checked the peephole. And wasn’t it little Mrs. Hotpants Necromaniac hoping to speed up the party? Shoulda figured her kind don’t wait. She must’ve followed me home then worked up her nerve. I opened the door and she threw herself into my arms.

Got more candy than on Halloween.

*******************************

Since I didn’t figure the client needed an appointment the next day, I moved down to the next contact on my list. I needed to talk to this friend who knew the old geezer Scottie. Sounded like she knew about Dan and Lisa’s relationship too. I called Bev up and told her that Miss Calhoun said she’d answer a few questions for me. She told me about a coffee shop near her job where we could talk.

Turns out she knew quite a bit. Bev used to live just on the other side of Scottie. Scottie had a cottage within hearing distance of Lisa and Dan’s farmhouse. She was good friends with both Scottie and Lisa. Scottie told her about the beatings. So did Lisa. One night Scottie heard Dan whaling the water out of his wife. The kids were screaming. Scared this time Dan that would kill her, Scottie went over there with his shotgun and put a stop to it. Never happened again as far as Scottie or Lisa ever told her.

She thought it was real odd when Lisa called her up long distance when Lisa knew she was on vacation. Lisa told her that she hadn’t seen Scottie in a couple of days. She asked Bev what Scottie’s sister’s phone number was in case of emergency.Then Dan broke down Scottie’s door with Lisa standing there. He went upstairs and found Scottie stiffer than an over-nuked bagel. There was blood all over the floor beside the bed. The coroner said Scottie probably got up in the middle of the night to take a leak. The aneurysm grabbed him then he cracked his head against the night table on the way down.

Within two weeks, Lisa was dead, too. Another aneurysm. Convenient. Except she was lying in a hospital, head all bandaged up with tubes coming out of orifices that weren’t designed to hold hoses. Then she mysteriously croaked of heart failure. The doc said he was clueless and figured it was just some freak accident.

Bev seriously wondered if Dan had gone back to beating Lisa and bashed her head against the wall the morning they took her to the hospital. I’m no Dr. Kildare but something was wrong with the picture. Two brain aneurysms in two weeks? But it takes more than a wet brush to paint a Picasso.

My suspicious side kept screaming that there was one item the coroner never ticked off on his list.

Poison.

I checked the library next. Lots of farm fertilizers and insecticides cause nausea, vomiting, headaches. All the symptoms Lisa complained about when she dialed the ambulance to pick her up. Wouldn’t be too hard to get it into his wife. Or the old geezer she sometimes cooked cholesterol choked pies for.

Who’s gonna look for slow poison in the bloodstream of a harmless old guy who’s a walking ad for Santa Claus? Unless it screams, he’s a MedLab promo for ‘natural causes’. According to the paper dicks, poison’s a woman’s game. Tell it to all the buried prozzies who got pumped through “accidental overdoses”. Nope, poison’s a coward’s tool. Cowards who beat their women and back off when an old man gets gnarly.

Danny boy was shaping up better and better.