Seasons of Deception

Seasons of Deception

  By Kate McLachlan

  Copyright 2015 Kate McLachlan

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  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  “Seasons of Deception”

  Ten Little Lesbians sample

  About Kate McLachlan

  Other books by Kate McLachlan

  Connect with Kate McLachlan

  Acknowledgements

  “Seasons of Deception” first appeared in the anthology Lesbians on the Loose, Crime Writers on the Lam, edited by Lori L. Lake and Jessie Chandler, Launch Point Press (2015). I’d like to thank Lori and Jessie for allowing me join the great group of authors included in that anthology, and I’d also like to thank them for the terrific job they did editing “Seasons of Deception.” The story wouldn’t be the same without them.

  Seasons of Deception

  Beatrice pulled into her driveway and saw that Kenny Wingate had built a haunted house on his front porch. All month long the orange Halloween lights lining his eaves flashed through her windows on the other side of the cul-de-sac, keeping her awake at night. At Christmas time Kenny’s yard was filled with giant inflatable reindeer and Santa Clauses. On the Fourth of July he lined his yard with tiny flags and shot off the loudest fireworks. Aside from Kenny, it was a quiet neighborhood, and residents kept to themselves. Kenny was the closest thing they had to a kid.

  Kenny Wingate was seventy-four years old.

  On this particular day, he had a new dog, which caused Beatrice to break from her usual habit of a casual wave and tiny smile. She got out of the car just as Kenny walked by, still wearing his usual uniform of Birkenstocks and many-pocketed shorts and, his ropy legs tanned from near year-round exposure to the sun. Instead of closing the garage door, she stepped out to the sidewalk.

  “You have a new dog,” she said.

  “Yes.” He smiled and bent to pat the dog’s head. It barely reached mid-calf, but he was limber despite his age. “This is Doro. She’s a Shih Tzu.”

  Beatrice leaned down and let the dog lick her fingers. “Hi Doro. You’re a cutie.” She rose. “What happened to Nellie?”

  “I had to put her down last week.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. She was sixteen, though, and the pain pills weren’t working anymore. I couldn’t let her suffer.”

  “I understand.”

  “I didn’t see the point in waiting,” Kenny said. “It’s no good being alone, you know.” Beatrice did not answer. “Besides, if I’d waited, I would have missed out on Doro here.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “If this weather holds, maybe I can get you to come over for a barbecue.”

  “Sure.” Beatrice knew the weather wouldn’t hold. A hard frost was forecast for the end of the week. “See you around.”

  “Take care.”

  She entered the kitchen through the garage, hung her keys, and dropped her purse over a chair. “Honey, Kenny’s got a new dog,” she said. “Named Doro.”

  “Short for Dorothy, I bet,” Leigh said. “He’s so gay.”

  “He only put Nellie down last week. I don’t see how he could replace her so soon.”

  “Some people are ready to move on sooner than others.”

  Beatrice said, “Well, I’m not ready.”

  “Too bad,” Leigh said.

  Beatrice didn’t pay much attention to the strange absence of Christmas decorations at Kenny’s house later that year. She left for work in the morning before the sun rose, and she returned after it set. She didn’t have much holiday spirit anyway. Snow fell, it melted, fell and melted again. A glaze of ice coated the sidewalks and never really went away until March.

  She would have seen Kenny on the weekends if he’d been out and about, but she didn’t realize she hadn’t until one Saturday when he went past in a strange car, a blue Toyota Prius. He was the passenger, and the driver was a woman. He didn’t see Beatrice, though she waved. He stared straight ahead and looked small.

  She grabbed three reusable grocery bags in each hand and hauled them into the kitchen, her knuckles cracking from the weight.

  Leigh said, “You just can’t stand to make more than one trip from the car, can you?”

  “I hate wasting steps,” Beatrice said. “Besides, I don’t see you helping.”

  “I would if I could.”

  Beatrice instantly felt bad. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I know.”

  Beatrice reached into the first bag. “I saw Kenny in a car with a woman. She was driving. She looked young enough to be his daughter, or granddaughter even. He never had any kids, did he?”

  “Not that I know of. I don’t think he has any family at all.”

  “I didn’t either. In fact,” Beatrice paused with a pack of tofu in her hand, “I know he doesn’t, now that I think of it. He told me once he was an only child and that his bloodline would die with him. I wonder who that woman was.”

  “A friend?”

  “Maybe. I was surprised he wasn’t driving his regular car. He loves that old Monte Carlo but he was in Prius.”

  “Maybe he’s getting too old.”

  “If he is, it happened fast. Besides, seventy-four isn’t that old.”

  “Speaking of getting old, have you decided what to do about Christmas?”

  Beatrice closed the refrigerator door with her butt and slumped against it. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to stay here with you.”

  “Your family will be disappointed.”

  Beatrice sighed. “I don’t care. I’m just so tired of people telling me I have to move on.”

  Beatrice didn’t see Kenny’s dog again until spring. Doro was being walked by the same woman who had driven the Prius. She was short and wore dark glasses with thick round lenses.

  Curiosity tugged. Beatrice donned a jacket and caught up with her on the sidewalk. “Hi,” Beatrice said. “This is Kenny’s dog, isn’t it? Doro?”

  “Yes.” The woman tried to keep moving, but Doro had ideas of her own. She lunged for Beatrice, stretching the leash taut. Beatrice squatted and let the dog jump on her knees.

  “I haven’t seen Kenny around much. Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine.” The woman gave a tight smile. “I’m taking care of him.”

  Beatrice blinked. “Does he need someone to take care of him?”

  “Well, he’s not getting any younger.”

  Beatrice let Doro down and stood. “He seemed great the last time I saw him.”

  “He’s fine,” the woman said again. “He just needs a little help, that’s all. You know, remembering things.”

  “Huh.” Beatrice used the same doubting tone she’d used with fractious witnesses when she was still a prosecutor. “Can’t he even walk Doro?”

  “It’s easier if I do it. He’s too slow.”

  “Slow? What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. He’s getting old, that’s all.”

  “Really.”

  The woman’s lips narrowed and she frowned at Doro, who circled a shrub for the third time. “Hurry up, dog. I haven’t got all day.” She reversed direction and headed back around the cul-de-sac toward Kenny’s house. Doro scrambled at the end of the leash behind her.

  Beatrice watched until they entered Kenny’s house before returning to her own.

  “I don’t trust that woman,” Beatrice said, throwing her jacket at a chair.

  “Why not?” Leigh asked
.

  “She’s not nice to that dog. Her little legs were spinning trying to keep up with her.”

  “At least she was walking her.”

  “For the first time in months.”

  “You don’t know that,” Leigh said. “You haven’t been home to see if they walked by.”

  “Doro didn’t like her. Besides, Kenny was fine last fall. How did he get too slow to walk Doro in this short period of time?”

  “Maybe he had some medical issues since then. People that age do.”

  “Then why didn’t she say so? She says he’s fine, but she talks about him like he’s not. He’s so old he can’t even walk that little dog anymore? Last year at this time he was skateboarding. People don’t get that old overnight.”

  “Some do.”

  “Anyway, I think I can tell when people are telling the truth or not. That’s my job, after all. I don’t believe her.”

  “What exactly do you think she was lying about?”

  “He’s not fine. If he was fine, he would be walking Doro.”

  Beatrice missed the red, white, and blue petunias Kenny planted every summer. This year, his flower boxes remained empty. She was on her knees on her front lawn wrestling with a sprinkler head when she heard the woman’s voice.

  “Get in the car!”

  Beatrice looked up.

  The Prius idled in front of Kenny’s house. The woman sat in the driver’s seat, her head barely visible above the steering wheel. Beatrice saw movement at the front porch.

  Kenny descended the stairs. There were only three steps, but he took them gingerly, lowering his left foot and securing it before bringing his right down. He gripped the railing with one hand and cradled Doro in his other arm. Finally, he reached the bottom of the stairs and shuffled forward, his gait so unsteady she thought for a moment he was going to fall.

  Beatrice leapt to her feet, but he steadied himself and moved forward.

  The woman beeped the horn, stuck her head out the window, and shouted, “I said get in the goddamn car!”

  Kenny moved more quickly and wobbled a bit. Beatrice dropped her spade and ran forward. She was too far away to help, but he didn’t fall. By the time she reached him, he had opened the car door, dropped Doro inside, and was lowering himself to the seat.

  “Kenny,” Beatrice said.

  He looked up and squinted, as if unsure how he knew her, but he couldn’t stop his momentum. He fell back into the seat with a grunt. Doro scrambled onto his lap. He started to close the door, but Beatrice grabbed it and studied him.

  The day was hot, but instead of the shorts and Birkenstocks she was accustomed to seeing him in during the summer, he wore long tan trousers stained in the front and a limp green sweater. He had always been a trim man, but he had lost at least twenty pounds and was gaunt as a skeleton. His face was pale.

  “Kenny, what happened to you?”

  He blinked and shook his head as if to say he didn’t know. He put a hand out to her, fingers trembling.

  “We’re running late,” the woman said. “No time to talk.” She leaned over Kenny’s lap and reached for the door handle. Before she could close the door, though, Kenny grabbed Doro and thrust her through the opening. Beatrice caught the dog, and the woman wrenched the door closed. She yanked the seat belt at Kenny’s shoulder, pulled it across his chest to latch it, and quickly latched her own. She hit the gas and sped away from the curb.

  Beatrice turned and sprinted home. “I’m calling Adult Protective Services,” she told Leigh breathlessly. She put the dog on the kitchen floor. “That woman is horrible.”

  “What did she do?”

  Beatrice explained while Doro hid behind a table leg and barked in Leigh’s direction. “What’s wrong with that dog?”

  Leigh said, “I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Anyway, the woman tore out of there practically burning rubber.”

  “In a Prius?”

  “I know, can you believe it?” Beatrice grabbed her phone and Googled the number for APS.

  “What are you going to tell them?” Leigh asked. “That she swore? That she drives like a teenager? She let him give you his dog? They’ll think you’re a crack pot.”

  “No, they won’t. I’m a judge.”

  “That and five dollars will get you a latte, love.”

  “There’s more going on than that,” Beatrice said, but Leigh was right. Beatrice was familiar enough with the police to know that the immediate response to a report like hers would be a cursory investigation. An APS investigator knocking on Kenny’s door would accomplish little and only tip the woman off.

  She dropped the phone in her pocket, put some water in a bowl for Doro, and tried to think what to do. A rustling at the front door drew her attention and she saw the mail carrier stepping away from her porch. She had an idea.

  “I’m going over there.”

  “What for?” Leigh asked.

  “Maybe she’s getting mail there. I’m going to find out who this mysterious woman is.”

  “Tampering with the mail is a federal offense, Bea.”

  “I’m not going to tamper with it. I’m just going to look at it.”

  “What about the dog? You can’t leave her here with me. She doesn’t like me.”

  Doro had her head on her paws. Low growling sounds rumbled in her throat.

  “I’ll only be gone a minute.” Beatrice slipped out the door.

  To make herself look like a legitimate visitor, she knocked on Kenny’s front door. As expected, no one answered. The mailbox was mounted beside the door. She opened the lid and peeked in. The box was nearly full and didn’t appear to have been emptied for days. She sorted through plenty of junk mail, some bills, an envelope from the state, and two from the bank, including one addressed to Melanie Wingate.

  Beatrice was surprised at how strong the temptation was to take that letter. A standard lecture she gave when sentencing criminals was to urge them to exercise self-discipline and resist temptation. Aside from some petty shoplifting as a teen, for which she was never caught, Beatrice had never been tempted to commit a crime. Until now. She silently lectured herself and closed the lid of the mailbox.

  She rounded the house and let herself through the back gate. She was trespassing, but that was only a misdemeanor. It was one thing to read someone’s mail coming in, but it was something else to read it going out. No matter how many times people were warned to shred their discarded mail, hardly anyone ever did.

  The brown garbage bin beside the back porch was piled high with trash, its lid flopped open. The blue recycling bin was on its side, also with the lid open, and it was empty. Based on the leaves and debris that had blown inside, it had been lying there for some time. Doro’s tiny piles of poop littered the yard, an accumulation of weeks, if not months. Kenny’s yard had always been immaculate.

  Beatrice approached the garbage bin. The muck that filled it was not bagged. Cans and bottles, paper, and empty cartons were mixed in with the trash, which explained the empty recycling bin. Kenny had always been an avid recycler. Melanie, apparently, was not. Nor was she a vegetarian. Bones and skin and grease layered much of the trash and raised an overpowering stink. Beatrice hadn’t eaten meat in years. The look and smell of the rotted flesh in Kenny’s garbage bin was too much. There was no way she could stick her hands in it.

  She debated whether she should get Kenny’s hidden key and snoop inside, but that was going too far. Instead, she fled around to the front of the house, darted up the steps, and snatched the mail from the mailbox.

  “Okay, I tampered.” Beatrice tossed the mail on the dining room table and sat. Doro leaped onto her lap and licked her face.

  “Oh, Bea.”

  “I know. I couldn’t help it. But it’s okay. I know how to open it and reseal it just like new.” She put the old teakettle on. “Her name is Melanie Wingate. Same last name as Kenny, so she must be a relative after all.”

  After holding the glue strip of each e
nvelope over the arrow of steam coming from the kettle’s spout, Beatrice was able to pry open each envelope. She spread them out on the table and took tally. “The state pension fund sent him a change of beneficiary form. Who’s he going to name—Melanie? And the bills aren’t getting paid, some of them anyway. The cable bill’s up to date, and someone made a double payment on the utilities last month, but the mortgage hasn’t been paid in four months. These medical bills are going to collection. She compared Kenny’s statements to Melanie’s. “Cash has been going out of Kenny’s account every month, right after his pension goes in. And look, she gets a deposit at the same time for the same amount. She’s stealing from him, Leigh!”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he’s giving her the money. Maybe he’s paying her to help him.”

  “Unlikely,” Beatrice said, but she got Leigh’s point. Quite often the most logical explanation was the truth, but it wasn’t always. She set up the ironing board and turned on the iron. “This’ll make the envelopes look like new again.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “You’d be surprised what I’ve learned from criminal trials. I could get away with murder.”

  “Good to know.”

  Beatrice snapped photos of the documents with her phone, ironed each page flat, and tucked them back into their envelopes. A quick swipe over the steam rejuvenated the glue, and she resealed the envelopes.

  “I’m going to return these. Be right back.”

  Beatrice sprinted back. She dropped the mail into the box, turned, and the Prius wheeled into the driveway, its electric engine nearly silent. Beatrice tucked her hands into the pockets of her shorts, then realized she was the picture of false innocence. She forced her hands out to her sides and attempted a more genuine look.

  The Prius stopped beside the house and Melanie stepped out. “What are you doing?”

  “I was just checking to see if you were home,” Beatrice said. “I wasn’t sure how long Kenny wants me to keep Doro.”

  Melanie glanced at the mailbox, and Beatrice knew she’d been spotted with her hand on it. She hoped the glue had time to dry.

  “Keep the dog,” Melanie said. “Going to the doctor wears Kenny out. He’ll sleep ’til morning. You can bring the dog back then.”

  Kenny remained in the passenger seat. He looked at Beatrice but seemed uninterested in why she was there. He did look tired.