Picture Me Dead

“We’ll just eat more junk at the parks,” Jan said woefully. “Boy, Ashley, you just had to bring these cookies, huh?”

“If I hadn’t brought the cookies, we just would have stopped and ordered something really greasy at one of the rest stops,” Ashley assured her. “There should have been more cookies, actually. Enough to last the trip.”

“What happened?”

“I dropped them. Actually, I banged into some guy looking for Nick and they went flying. His fault, not mine.”

“We’re going to have to stop anyway—coffee to go with the cookies,” Karen reminded her. “In fact, I’m stopping here and now. Not one more bite until we get the coffee to go with the cookies.”

“Milk would be good,” Jan said.

“Milk goes with Oreos,” Karen said. “Coffee goes with chocolate chips.”

“I actually had coffee, but then…oh, well,” Ashley murmured.

“You dropped it, too?”

“Yeah, I dropped it.” She grinned at Jan via the mirror. “Actually, I spilled it all over him. And myself. I had to change. That’s why I was so late.”

“Was it a good friend of Nick’s?” Jan asked. “Was he ticked?”

“Hey, was he cute, or one of the old salts?” Karen asked.

“I don’t think he’s a good friend, but I’ve seen him around before. I guess he was ticked. But it was his fault.”

“That you spilled coffee on him?” Jan said.

“Well, he was just there—practically in the doorway. Who expects to open their door to a hulking stranger before six in the morning?”

“Well, actually, you should,” Karen pointed out. “All those aging old tars living in the houseboats at the marina know Nick is up early, and they’d rather have your coffee than make their own.”

“So, Ash, you started the morning off by burning an old geezer?” Jan said. “That isn’t like you. Most of the people who frequent that place think you’re the most wonderful little darling in the entire world and that Nick is lucky to have you.”

“I hope you didn’t cause an old guy’s pacemaker to stop,” Karen told her.

“I don’t think this guy has a pacemaker.”

“He wasn’t an old geezer?” Jan said, perking up.

“He was a young asshole,” Ashley told her.

“Hey, you never answered me, if he was cute or not,” Karen said.

Ashley hesitated, frowning slightly. She didn’t pay a ton of attention to everyone who came into Nick’s—she didn’t help out now anywhere near as much as she had done in years past. But she was usually observant. She noticed faces, because she loved to draw. And she usually remembered features very clearly. It seemed strange to her now that she had seen the man before and really not taken that much notice of him.

“I would never describe him as ‘cute,’” she assured Karen.

“Too bad. I was thinking there might be someone hot and new at Nick’s to observe,” Jan said sadly.

Ashley was silent for a minute.

“Hey, she didn’t say that he wasn’t hot,” Karen observed.

“I don’t think he’s the type I’d want to take an interest in,” Ashley said.

“Because he was rude?” Jan asked. “It didn’t sound to me as if you were in the mood to be Miss Manners yourself.”

Ashley shook her head. “I wasn’t rude. All right, yes, I was rude. Maybe I should even have apologized. But I was just in a hurry, and he startled me—even scared me there for a few seconds. He’s just…dark.”

“Dark? Hispanic, Latin, Afro-American?” Karen said, confused.

“No, dark, as in…intense.”

“Ah, intense,” Karen said.

“Well, I mean, he’s dark, too. Dark-haired, dark-eyed. Tanned. Apparently likes boats, or water, or the sun.”

“Um. Sounds sexy. The dark type.”

“Did he have a bod?” Karen demanded.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Maybe I’ll start hanging around Nick’s more,” Karen said.

“Oh, right, like you need to go looking for men,” Jan said.

“Yeah, I do. Who do I meet at a grade school? You’ve got it made, because you stand up in front of hordes of people in great outfits and sing. You’re the one who doesn’t need to go looking for men.”

“Looking is easy. They’re all over. Finding good ones is tough,” Jan said.

“Well, forget Nick’s, then. Don’t all the psychologists say never to look for a date in a bar? You’re supposed to meet them by bowling or something,” Ashley said.

“I hate bowling,” Karen commented.

“Then bowling probably wouldn’t be a great way for you to meet a guy,” Jan observed. “There you have it, how not to date in a nutshell. Put the three of us together, and we can really solve the major problems in the world,” she said ruefully.

“Hey, I solve the problems of six-to ten-year-olds on a daily basis,” Karen reminded her. “I’m responsible for molding the minds and morals of the future voters of a country in need of the best next generation in history. Ashley spends her days learning how to shoot and deal with the scum of the earth. This weekend, I think we should leave the serious stuff behind and worry about the next best serious stuff—our tans and the size of our butts.”

“We won’t set our goals too high,” Jan said. “If we can just find a few strangers who have bathed and are halfway articulate and don’t mind a few minutes on a dance floor, we’ll call it social triumph. I need a cookie.”

“Works for me,” Karen agreed. “But…butt size, huh? I think I have to have one more cookie, too, before the coffee, since it’s going to be at least twenty minutes before we reach the rest stop.”

Ashley noted, with a quick glance at her friend, that Karen delicately bit off a tiny piece of cookie and chewed slowly, savoring every nuance. That, she decided, was how Karen stayed the nearest thing to perfect. She ate everything, but had the art of nibbling down pat. One cookie could last Karen an hour. She was petite, a perfect size two, with huge sky-blue eyes and a sweep of natural, near-platinum hair, testimony to a distant Norse heritage, along with her family name, Ericson. Jan, on the other hand, was dark-haired, dark-eyed, five-nine and as fiery as her Latin surname, Hevia, suggested she might be. Ashley referred to them often by the fairy-tale names they had gained as children: Rose White and Rose Red. She was a green-eyed redhead herself, the coloration courtesy of her mother’s family, the McMartins, since her last name was Montague. Her father’s family had been mainly French, with a little Cherokee or Seminole thrown in, which meant that she had only a small spattering of freckles on her nose and the ability to acquire a fairly decent tan without burning like a beet first. She was the medium between Jan and Karen at five feet six. The two had playfully labeled her the thorn in the roses. The three had been friends since grade school, and had shared dreams, victories and heartaches ever since. This weekend was something they had been looking forward to for a long time, since their adult lives had taken them in very different directions. Karen was teaching and going to school for her master’s degree. Jan was a singer, and though she doubted she was ever going to achieve mega-star status, she didn’t care. She loved singing and songwriting, and her career was beginning to take off nicely, if modestly. She and her accompanist were being booked as an opening act for shows across the country. Ashley was in her third month at the metro police academy, and she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into every class, every subtlety of the law, rights and self-defense that could be learned.

“Think Sharon and your uncle Nick are going to get married?” Jan asked, leaning forward.

Sharon Dupre, the baker of the divine cookies, had been seeing Nick for almost a year now. They were definitely a hot item.

“Maybe. Who knows,” Ashley replied, watching the clock and the road. “Nick is such a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. He loves his fishing and his restaurant, and I guess, as long as Sharon tolerates his habits, it could happen.”

“Well, Nick is going to have to tolerate Sharon’s weird real estate hours,” Karen said.

“True,” Ashley agreed. “He seems to deal with it all okay. Nick is a live-and-let-live guy.” She knew that well, having grown up with her uncle. She was often sad to realize that she barely remembered her parents. They had been killed in an automobile accident when she had been three. She adored Nick; he had filled the roles of both parents with love and tenderness, and there was nothing she wanted more for him than the laid-back happiness with which he had always lived. Whether that included marriage to Sharon or not was a decision he was going to have to make himself.

“Hey, there’s a great pair of pants in this ad,” Jan said, sitting forward to show the magazine she was reading to Karen. “Think they’d look good on someone with fat thighs?”

“They are great pants,” Karen said.

Jan tapped her on the arm with the magazine in mock anger. “You’re supposed to tell me that I don’t have fat thighs,” she informed her friend.

“Sorry. You don’t have fat thighs. And I think they’d be great on me, too—a little person with a bubble butt.”

“Great pants all around,” Jan said.

“You’re supposed to tell me I don’t have a bubble butt.”

“I’m jealous, considering I’m all thighs and no butt,” Jan said, then switched subjects abruptly. “You should have joined the Coral Gables force, or even South Miami, rather than metro, Ashley. What were you thinking? Coral Gables has some really cute guys. And they’re nice.”

“Yeah, the metro guys can be assholes,” Karen agreed.

Ashley arched a brow, meeting Karen’s gaze. “You just think they’re assholes because you got a mega-ticket from one,” she said. “I wanted to be on the metro force.” Miami-Dade County, also known as the Greater Miami area, was made up of more than two dozen small cities, villages and municipalities. Some had their own large forces, with departments dealing with everything from jaywalking to murder, while others depended on the metropolitan force, which covered the entire county, for their homicide and forensic divisions. She had always wanted to work where she could cover the full scope of the area where she had lived all her life. “There are good officers—and even cute ones on all the forces.”

“And you were whizzing down the highway when you got that ticket,” Jan said. “Oh, look, Ashley is bristling. When she’s in her patrol car after graduation and needs to give out tickets, you’ll have to watch out. All she’ll need to do is park near your house and wait for you to leave the driveway at ninety.”

“I do not speed that badly,” Karen protested. “And look—Ashley is speeding now!”

“She’s going two miles over the limit,” Jan said. “And watch it, or we’ll wind up crawling the whole way to Orlando.”

Even as Jan spoke, Ashley began to press on the brake.

“See,” Jan said.

“No, no, there’s something going on up there,” Ashley said, frowning.

The cars ahead of her were suddenly squealing and braking. Behind her, two cars, in attempting to stop, nearly plowed into the median.

They were almost at the turnpike. The highway was five lanes each way here, with turnpike access just ahead, and the ramp for the east-west expressway also branching off. The early morning traffic, which had been so smooth, was suddenly a mess.

“What the hell is going on?” Ashley murmured. Creeping in line behind the cars directly ahead of her, she saw that two cars had apparently been involved in an accident. She was off duty and still just in the academy, but if there had been an accident and there were no other officers at the scene, by the book, she was obliged to stop until someone on duty could arrive. But just as the thought occurred to her, Karen, who had toyed with the idea of going into law instead of education, read her mind.

“No, we don’t need to stop. There’s already a cop car at the scene—just ahead. He must have just gotten there.”

Whatever had caused the accident, they had missed it by no more than a few minutes. The lanes weren’t blocked off yet, which meant the officer really had just arrived. The drivers of the vehicles were both out of their cars. One was sitting on the median, a man with his face in his hands. The other, who had apparently struck the first, was standing by his car, just staring at the road.

The accident had occurred in the far left lane. Ashley was driving in the lane directly next to it. As she moved along, she looked to her left, noting gratefully that neither driver appeared to have been hurt.

But someone had.

As she crept along in her lane, she suddenly gasped.

There was a man on the highway. Sprawled in the lane, naked except for a pair of white briefs. He was facedown, head twisted to the side, apparently dead.

She’d gone through everything necessary to become a cop. Taken the tests and seen all the videos featuring the types of horrors a policeman was likely to be up against at some point in his career or hers. But the sight of the man sprawled on the highway, naked except for his underwear, was still shocking and terrible.

“Oh, my God,” Karen breathed at her side.

“What?” Jan demanded.

Ashley’s hands were glued around the steering wheel as she fixed the entire scene in her mind. The immediate area first. The position of the two cars involved. The cop and the cop car that had just arrived. The body. Sprawled. Naked except for the white briefs. The head, twisted. The blood that seemed surreal against flesh and asphalt.

The cars, still veering off toward the median. And, across the median, cars slowing, braking, the screech of brakes. Far across the opposing lanes, someone standing, staring at all the traffic as if waiting for a light to change.

She moved past the body. It was still imprinted in her mind. As crystal clear and vivid as a photograph. The rest merging, blurring. The cars in the opposing lanes a kaleidoscope of color. The figure standing, watching the scene…

Just someone. Faceless. Dressed in…black, she thought. Man? Woman? She didn’t know. Part of what had happened? A friend of the man who had been struck?

“What? What the hell is it?” Jan demanded from the back seat.

“A body. A body on the highway,” Karen said, her voice faltering.

“A body?” Jan swung around.

They were past it now.

“Maybe I should turn around,” Ashley said.

“The hell you should! The cop trying to deal with the situation and the traffic would be pissed as hell to have something else to deal with,” Karen said. And she was right. There was already an officer on the scene. Traffic was knotting into serious snarls as it was. By the time she could safely reach an exit, turn around and get back to the scene, an ambulance would have arrived, and more on-duty officers, probably even those specializing in traffic accidents and fatalities, would be on hand.

“You’ve got to forget it, just forget it,” Karen said sternly. “Please, Ashley. How many vacations do we get together? And get serious, there are accidents every damn day down here. Fatal ones, too. It’s sad but true. You are not on duty. You’re not even a full-fledged cop. And if you start taking every single event you witness to heart, you’re going to be a lousy cop, because you’ll be too emotionally involved with each incident when you’re required to be alert to everything.”

Karen was making a great deal of sense.

“I didn’t even see the body,” Jan said.

“You’re lucky,” Karen countered, swallowing.

Ashley was glad that, despite her words, Karen had been equally affected by the sight.

“There are accidents every single day,” Karen repeated. “People die, and they’re going to continue to die,” she told Ashley sternly.

Ashley glanced at her quickly. “They don’t die naked except for their underwear, on the highway, every day,” she countered.

“Did he come from one of the cars?” Jan asked.

“Maybe, but how?” Karen said.

“Perhaps he was in one of the passenger seats and was thrown out when the accident occurred,” Jan said.

“He was riding around in his underwear?” Ashley said.

“Hey, this is South Florida. Spend a little more time at the clubs on South Beach,” Jan said. “He might have been riding around stark naked, who the hell knows?”

“I don’t think he was in one of the cars,” Ashley said, remembering the relative positions of the cars, and the body.

“So he was walking across the highway in his underwear?” Jan said.

“Maybe there will be something on the news,” Karen said, switching the radio channel from the popular rock frequency they’d had on to the twenty-four-hour news station. The commentator was giving a rundown of events in Washington, but then switched over to local traffic.

“There’s been an accident on I-95, northbound, a pedestrian struck by oncoming traffic,” a pleasant female voice said over the airwaves. “Both left-hand lanes are now closed, so use caution and slow down while approaching the turnpike interchange. For all you folks traveling from north Dade and Broward on your way to work in the downtown Miami area, be on the alert for slowing traffic on the southbound side. The turnpike is still running smoothly to that point, but to the south, we’ve got an accident on the off ramp from the Palmetto to Miller Drive.”

The traffic report ended, and then a different newscaster came on to give a report about boating conditions.

By then they had reached the entrance to the turnpike. Ashley threw her coins into the bucket at the toll booth and moved into traffic, aware that Karen was staring at her.

“We’re going to put it out of our minds and have a good time,” Karen insisted firmly.

Ashley nodded. She tried to keep silent, then said, “It’s just too bizarre. What was a man doing running across the highway in his underwear?”

“He must have been doped up,” Jan said from the back.

“That must be it,” Karen agreed. “Why the hell else would you try to cross at least ten lanes of traffic—dressed to the teeth or half-naked?”

“Ashley, when you go back to the academy Monday morning, I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who knows something about it,” Jan said.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“And until then, there’s nothing you can do,” Karen said.

“Yes, there is,” Ashley said.

“What’s that?”

“Stop at the first rest station, buy a big cappuccino, a horrible, greasy breakfast sandwich and stop shaking,” Ashley said.

“All right, I’m up for that,” Jan said. “I’ll stick with regular coffee and these cookies, though.”

They reached the service plaza less than thirty miles later, still subdued, but trying to rekindle the light mood that had been with them as they’d started out. While Ashley and Jan stood in line for coffee and food, Karen gathered brochures for Orlando and its multitude of tourist attractions. When they were finally seated, Jan pounced on the brochure for Arabian Knights. “I’ve never been there. I loved Medieval Times, though, and this place has horses, too.”

“And men,” Karen said. “But I thought we were going to go dancing? You know, to Pleasure Island or someplace like that.”

“One night dancing, one night watching gorgeous men on horseback,” Jan said.

Ashley was barely listening. She had taken out a pencil and was sketching on her napkin.

A hand fell over hers, stopping the movement of her pencil mid-slide. She looked up and met Karen’s. “That’s chilling—too close to what we just saw,” Karen said.

Jan drew the napkin from her and shuddered. “What are we going to do, Ashley? You’ve got to let it drop.” She gazed down at the sketch again. “Thank God I was busy looking at pants that would look good on people with fat thighs,” she said, trying to draw a smile. “I’m haunted just by the picture.”

“You should have stayed in art school,” Karen said. “A drawing on a napkin…and it’s just like the real thing. Please, Ashley…”

Ashley crumpled up the napkin. “Sorry,” she murmured guiltily. Her friends were right. There was nothing she could do about what had happened.

And she was destined to see much worse during her career as a cop.

“You haven’t really given up on art, have you?” Jan asked her. “I mean, you’re good. Really good. I’ve never seen anyone who can sketch people so well.”

“I’ll never give it up,” Ashley said. “I love to draw. It’s just that…”

“She likes the concept of a paycheck,” Karen told Jan with a sigh.

“You could have gotten a paycheck as an artist. I know it,” Jan said.

“Art school just cost too much,” Ashley said.

“You didn’t take that scholarship because you were too afraid Nick would want to help you and he couldn’t afford it,” Karen mused sagely.

“Nick would never stop me from pursuing any dream,” Ashley said a little defensively. And it was true. She knew Nick had been disappointed when she turned down the scholarship that had been offered to her by a prestigious Manhattan art college. But even with the scholarship, the money necessary to live and study in New York—even in a dorm—would have been too much. She could have gotten a part-time job, but it wouldn’t have been enough. Nick would have tried to help, but with tourism suffering, he would probably have just about sent himself into bankruptcy.

“Look, I love art, but I always wanted to be a cop. My dad was a cop, remember?”

“None of us really remembers,” Karen said. “It was so long ago.”

“I remember that I loved my folks and admired my dad,” Ashley said. “And police work is fascinating.”

“Yeah, real fascinating. You’re going to be in a patrol car, trying to chase down speeders, like Karen,” Jan said.

“Cute, Jan, really cute,” Karen said.

“Sorry.”

“Honest to God, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing,” Ashley said.

“So, horses or dancing tonight?” Karen said.

“Let’s just flip a coin—we’ll fit them both in,” she promised. She crumpled up the wrapper from her sandwich along with the napkin on which she’d been drawing. “Ready to hit the road?”

“Want me to drive?” Karen asked.

“Good God, no!” Jan piped in. “She’ll be arresting you—or giving you a warning speech, at the very least—from the passenger seat. Hey, can you write a ticket if you’re sitting next to someone who’s driving your own car?”

“Jan,” Karen said firmly. “I’m going to throttle you in a minute. Your precious little throat will be wounded, and you’ll sound like a dying ’gator rather than a songbird.”

“Hey, you heard that—she’s threatening me!” Jan said.

“Oh, will you two please stop?” Ashley begged, a smile twitching her lips.

“Seriously, want one of us to drive?” Karen said.

Ashley shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

As far as driving went, she was fine.

But…

It felt as if the body on the highway would be etched into her mind forever.

CHAPTER 2

Nick was behind the bar, washing glasses, when Sharon Dupre returned. She hurried in, hoping he wasn’t going to ask about where she’d been. She had said that she would arrive to help with the lunch crowd, but she hadn’t managed to get back in time.

He didn’t question her. She should have known he wouldn’t, she thought as he looked up at her with his customary grin. Nick wasn’t the jealous type. If she wasn’t enjoying his company and wanted out, she was welcome to leave at any time. If she was happy with him, well, then, she should be there, and he would be delighted.

“Hey, how was your day?” he asked.

“Great.”

“Sell anything?”

“Showed two expensive places, but I don’t have any bites—yet.”

“It takes time.”

“Has Ashley called? Did the girls reach their hotel yet?”

Nick shook his head. “She won’t call me today unless there’s a problem. I’ll probably hear from her tomorrow. Hey, she loved the cookies. She’ll tell you herself, when she gets back.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

She set her purse down behind the bar and gave him a kiss, wishing she didn’t feel so nervous. It wasn’t like her. She was never uneasy. Never. She was always in control.

She started to leave, but he pulled her back, giving her a stronger, much more suggestive kiss. When he released her, she flushed. “Sandy Reilly just came in, and he’s staring at us!”