Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [3]
And one day, a coin toss wouldn’t decide Lacey’s destiny. It was a few hours to midnight (or prime time, as Paul called it) when Lacey heard the flies. She retraced her steps up the driveway and returned to the house to grab a flashlight. She tripped along the weeds and brush in their backyard, closing in on the stench. An animal must have died. Maybe a deer. But what would have killed a deer in the middle of their backyard? There was no hunting in these woods. Maybe the deer just died. Animals sometimes just die, like people, right? That’s what she was thinking up until the moment she realized it was a body, a human body.
Her flashlight panned across the scene momentarily and she turned away. Just to make sure she saw what she thought she saw, she flashed the light on the body again, this time lingering on the head, or at least where the head should have been. She gagged. Then she decided she had seen enough. She ran full-speed back to the house.
“We have a problem,” Lacey said to Paul, trying to sound calm and rational. She always liked people who were calm and rational, and adopted this persona whenever possible.
“Can it wait until morning?” Paul replied, staring blankly at the TV screen. “My program is on.”
Had Lacey been in an argumentative mood, she would have reminded Paul that “his program”—meaning any show he liked—was always on. This particular moment, his program involved men catching crabs in perilous conditions. Even Lacey liked this program.
“No, it can’t wait,” Lacey said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Can it wait fifteen minutes?” Paul asked, checking the clock.
“No,” Lacey replied.
“Almost anything can wait fifteen minutes.”
“Not a house fire,” Lacey snapped.
“Is the house on fire?” Paul asked.
“No.”
“Well then.”
Lacey sat down on the couch next to Paul. She tapped her boot nervously on the hardwood floor—a habit of hers that could drive Paul to the brink of insanity. While the news could have waited fifteen minutes until Paul’s program was over, Lacey didn’t feel like waiting.
“There’s a dead body in our backyard,” she said. “I’m going to call 911.”
Lacey slowly got to her feet and walked over to the phone. She picked up the cordless, but before she could dial, Paul snatched it out of her hand.
“Show me,” he said.
“Well, he’s definitely dead,” Paul said.
“Thanks for confirming my diagnosis,” Lacey replied. “Now what?”
“I’m thinking.”
“That could take forever.”
“Do you know him?” Paul asked.
“He’s missing a head!” Lacey shouted. “How the fuck do I know if I know him or not?”
“Good point.”
Despite the cold air, a bead of sweat dripped down Paul’s forehead.
“He smells,” Lacey said, fighting her gag reflex again.
“Agreed.”
“Can we call the cops now?” Lacey asked. “I want him out of here.”
“No, Lacey. We can’t call the cops,” Paul said, matter-of-factly.
“Why not?”
The reason was obvious, and on a normal day, a day when Lacey hadn’t discovered her first headless body, she wouldn’t have needed the reminder.
“Think about it,” Paul said in his most condescending tone.
“Oh . . . right,” Lacey sadly replied.
They couldn’t call the cops because they couldn’t have the law nosing around their property, an unfortunate side effect of their business. Like so many in their line of work, Paul and Lacey had fallen into it. Paul had grown his first marijuana plant in high school, but he didn’t pursue it seriously until he came back from college short on savings and job opportunities. Five years later, the Hansens were a small but steady supplier. Lacey was interested in botany, but she never quite thought of herself as a pot grower. It was just something she was helping out with for now.
“Why here?” Lacey asked, her calm and rational persona fading fast.
“I don’t know,” Paul replied.
“Is someone sending us a message?”
“Still don’t know.”
Despite the smell, the siblings stood at the grisly crime scene and took in the sight of