Janice Bennett - Cold Turkey

And so Gerda and I had left her shop around six that evening and headed into Meritville in search of alternative living accommodations. We drove Hans Gustav. Freya’s convertible top still didn’t close properly, and I couldn’t take it in for repairs with That Valorous Turkey ensconced in the backseat, trying to bite anyone who touched the Mustang.

“It’s better than one of those irritating car alarms that go off in the middle of the night when the wind blows too hard,” Gerda told me as we left the restaurant where we’d had dinner. Our real purpose for coming into town was our next stop-the pay and pull yard where you could buy car parts-and parts of cars-for a decent price.

“That’s a matter of opinion.” I checked her supply of music tapes and shoved in the Pirates of Penzance. I’d been in a Gilbert and Sullivan mood all day.

The rain had let up a few hours ago, and stars glittered in the night sky. Not so much as a wisp of cloud. Where was the clear weather when I’d needed it so badly? Well, since I was now about to go browsing in a junkyard, the lack of rain would prove useful.

“What do you think Tedi Bird would like?” Gerda asked as we pulled into the parking lot. The place was closed, but I’d been there before when Freya needed repair. Flood lights illuminated the place from dusk to dawn. The owner always encouraged prospective customers to check out what was available. The smaller, more portable, items remained behind a chain-link fence, but the major chunks of cars lay scattered along the edges of the asphalt. Security cameras kept guard from several strategic locations, keeping prospective thieves honest.

“Well, let’s have a look.” I climbed out into the icy chill and frost that had replaced the rain, and huddled into my coat. The tail of my oversized “Pumpkin Pie Chef” T-shirt hung out from the bottom.

“A hard top?” Gerda suggested.

I shook my head. “Convertible. I talked to Simon, and he’s promised to build a turkey coop around whatever we find.”

Gerda beamed at me. “There, I knew you really loved Tedi Bird.”

“Let’s say I owe her,” I admitted.

I passed the front end of a pickup. The seats didn’t look cozy enough. The next I inspected looked too cramped. But the old Dodge next in line had possibilities. Only the rear end of the car remained, and it seemed about the same size as Freya’s. I moved the tarp that covered the space where the front had been removed and checked the upholstery, which didn’t look too bad.

Gerda peered over my shoulder. “Do you think we could get the trunk cut off? We only need the rear seats, after all.”

“Hmmm.” I moved around to the back. “It’s not closed completely.” I pulled open the trunk, looked inside, then slammed it at once.

Gerda swallowed. “Annike?”

“No,” I said.

“That was a body in there.”

“No it wasn’t. I didn’t see anything.”

“Annike, there’s a dead man in that trunk!”

I turned to face her, seeing a reflection of my own horror in her eyes. “I’m not finding another body,” I told her.

“I think you already did.”

“I can’t!” I wailed. “You didn’t hear my abjuration of all things related to murder investigations! Sarkisian will never let me live this down.”

“But this is a job for the Meritville police,” Gerda pointed out, as one clearing away all obstacles.

I shook my head. “Outside the city limits. This is county.”

“Then you’ll have to call Sarkisian. Well,” she added, always one to find the bright side of anything, “you’ve been avoiding breaking in that new cell phone.”

“Can’t I continue the avoiding?” With memories of Sunday night still haunting me, I’d gone out first thing that morning and signed up for a wireless phone service. I hadn’t used it, yet. I didn’t want to. But emergencies happened. One had just happened right now.

“Of course,” I said, not meeting Gerda’s distressed gaze, “we could just walk away…”

I pulled up the hem of my T-shirt. I only had to wipe my prints from the trunk. We hadn’t touched anything else. But that would destroy evidence… And there were those damned security cameras…

With a sigh that was more of a whimper, I pulled out my new phone.

Janice Bennett has the eclectic background often encountered in writers. She earned one B.A. degree in anthropology from UC Santa Cruz, another in classical civilizations from US Irvine, and an M.A. degree in folklore and mythology from UCLA. Over the years, she has worked as a bookkeeper, archaeologist, and college instructor in crafts, jewelry making, needlework and novel writing, and has been a frequent presenter of workshops on a variety of writing topics. She also teaches t’ai chi and is a certified hypnotherapist specializing in pain management.

To date, she has written nine novellas and twenty-one novels. She has won several awards, including two Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice awards and two Romantic Times Career Achievement Awards, for Time Travels and for Regencies.

Janice lives near the top of a sloping hillside on the outskirts of a tiny rural town, looking out over nothing but trees. With her reside her husband, her son, her computer and an assortment of birds, cats, dogs, guinea pigs, hamsters, fish, horses, and any other animal currently in need of a home.

Janice welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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