BM03 - Crazy Little Thing Called Dead by Kate George Page B

to go.
    “Someone killed a man at Planet Hair at eleven o’clock at night, cleaned up the mess, re-dressed the guy in clean clothes, after taping diapers to him and left. Taking all the bloody rags and clothes with them. That’s just as bizarre at killing him elsewhere and dumping him there.” I was confused. I remembered the saying about the simplest solution usually being right, but what if there wasn’t a simple solution?
    “I know. Right? It doesn’t make any sense. I’ll see you later, I need to get home.” She was moving toward the door.
    “Sure,” I said. “Leave me here in my confusion.”
    “Hang out for a while, I’m sure Meg will show up and then you can be confused together.”
    She laughed and headed out. I followed after; it was time to feed the animals and I wanted to know what Hambecker had learned.
     
    ***
     
    “Think of the devil,” I said as I walked up the steps to my kitchen porch. Hambecker was leaning against the door, wearing jeans and a nearly skin-tight black T-shirt. Leaning on the door was an improvement considering in the past he’d just walked right on in. Really it had only been twice, once I’d been asleep and the other time I hadn’t been here at all, but still I was kind of surprised he wasn’t already in the kitchen drinking a beer.
    “Do you know you’ve got a skunk hanging around?” he asked. “I would have disposed of it for you, but I thought it might be against your principles, so I left it alone.”
    “That’s Stripes! He’s Diesel’s best friend. You kill Stripes and you’re a dead man.” It hadn’t occurred to me that someone would kill him thinking they were doing me a favor. I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to slow my heart rate.
    “Who’s Diesel? A demented raccoon?” Hambecker raised one eyebrow.
    “No, smart ass, he’s my boxer.” I walked past him and pushed the door open. I stood still for a minute while the dogs surged around us, sniffing at Hambecker before running into the yard. I dropped my bag on a chair and opened the fridge. “Thirsty?”
    “Sure.” He slid out a chair and sat at the kitchen table facing the door.
    I handed him a bottle of Old Excuses – a local beer from the Freight House - and sat at the end of the table so I could be facing the door too. Not that I was expecting anybody, I just didn’t want to be the fool who sat with her back to the door.
    “Who are we waiting for?” I asked, nodding toward the door.
    “Nobody that I know of.”
    “Why are we sitting here watching the door?”
    “Force of habit,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
    “Don’t you ever just relax? What’s going to happen up here on the hill? I supposed a rabid porcupine might get the door open and attack us.”
    “It’s not porcupines I’m worried about. You want to tell me why you still don’t bother to lock your doors? It’s like I never abducted you.”
    “Would a locked door have stopped you?”
    “Nope.”
    “Would it stop anyone who was determined to get in?”
    “Nope.”
    “I rest my case.”
    “I can’t argue with that.” He set his bottle on the table. He seemed relaxed, but that muscle in his jaw flexed. Now that I knew where it was I could tell when he wasn’t as relaxed as he pretended to be. I liked to think that it gave me an edge.
    “Wouldn’t matter if you did. Now tell me what you found at Ronnie Hart’s place.”
    His face was partially turned away from me. Hiding something , I thought.
    “Not much. No signs of unusual activity. I found some diapers under the tractor in her shed. They were soaking up oil dripping from her tractor. But with only that to go on I wouldn’t say there’s much reason to investigate further.”
    “What about the burn spot in the back of the shed? That looked pretty fresh.”
    “Come on, Bree. Three-quarters of the people in this state have a burn pile on their property. I’ll bet I’d find one behind your barn if I looked.”
    This was true. I