“Come on, girl. Leave me alone.” I nudged Ursi away from my face with one hand while I silenced my alarm with the other. Sunday morning had come way too early after my night of fun and frivolity.
She nipped at my fingertips. I guess somebody didn’t care that I wanted to sleep in since I’d stayed up way past my regular bedtime. I’d even given her a few kitty treats before turning in, the ungrateful feline.
“You win.” I tossed back the sheet. I loved my apartment, but it could get a little warm during the summer months. “I need to get ready for church anyway.”
I rarely missed Sunday Mass. When I did, it was because I was out of town or sick in bed. Mainly, I went to spend time with Mom and contemplate issues and ideas way bigger than me. Mom appreciated my attendance, especially since I was the only one of her children who was a regular churchgoer.
Despite my desire to sleep in until noon, blowing off church this Sunday was a nonstarter. My dear mother was well aware of what I’d been up to the night before. She’d have no problem at all giving me grief for weeks for missing because I’d been out too late.
No, it was better to take my medicine like a big girl, load up on the caffeine, and get to bed early at the end of the day.
• • •
I was walking to church, appreciating the cool breeze on my face, when I stopped in my tracks. Jack was sitting behind the wheel of his truck, waiting for traffic to clear at a four-way stop. It was like a vision straight out of a dream.
Or a nightmare. I wasn’t sure which yet.
I broke into a full-out sprint, my purse flapping against my hip, waving at him, in the hope of getting his attention. I hollered at him once, then a second time, before he finally turned in my direction.
“Hey, Allie. What’s up?” He gave me a casual smile like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Where have you been?” I sucked in lungfuls of air and let my heart rate return to normal. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a week. Do you know you’re a murder suspect?”
His grin turned into a frown. “Get in. I’ll drop you off at the church. We can talk on the way.”
The second I was buckled in, I turned toward him. “Ollie Watson was murdered last Sunday night. Why the heck haven’t you responded to my texts and phone calls?”
“I’m sorry.” He put a hand up to silence me. “I struggle with July Fourth. The fireworks are big triggers for me. This year, I bailed on the whole scene.”
“Okay. Where were you, then? Jack, this is serious. Matt wants to talk to you ASAP.”
“I was hiking on the Knobstone Trail. I started the hike last Saturday. Left my phone in the truck. I got back to Deam Lake last night. I’ve already spoken to the chief.”
The Knobstone Trail is the longest hiking trail in Indiana, covering a total of forty-five miles of trails from Deam Lake State Park south to Delaney Creek Park. I’d hiked small portions of it over the years, but only on day excursions.
“What a minute. You went hiking for a week? How did you, like, survive?” I shook my head. “Never mind that. How did you know Matt wanted to talk to you?”
He chuckled. “There were a few messages from him. Interspersed among the ones you and other folks left. And don’t worry. I’ve got an alibi. I gave him contact info for the folks at the trailhead.”
“Oh.” I sat back as a cool wave of relief washed over me. It may have been the truck’s air-conditioning, but it worked all the same. “Sorry about yelling at you. It’s been insane this week.”
“I can imagine. Was I really a suspect? The chief made it sound like he was just trying to account for folks like it was a routine thing.”
“You were. It was a crowded event, lots of things going on. The police have pretty much been considering everyone in town a suspect until they can rule them out. And then, there’s your experience with a rifle and the fact that nobody knew where you were—”
“And my poor choice of words after my brother passed away.” He scratched a bug bite on his arm. “I was angry then. I’m still angry. Taking that man’s life wouldn’t have brought my bro back, though.”
The church came into view. I wanted to wrap up the conversation on good terms. After practically accusing him of murder, it was the least I could do.
“The murderer must have a lot of skill to have taken that shot. Is there anyone at the gun club you’d put into that category?”
He pulled over across the street from the church. “Assuming it wasn’t some mentally ill person shooting into the crowd, I can think of a few. I could do it, Junior McCormick, Jax Michaels. Probably a few others.”
The mention of Jax caught my attention since he’d been at the party. I needed to see if he had any beefs with Ollie.
“What about Gail Hamilton? I’ve heard she knows her way around a rifle.”
“Maybe back in the day. We’d hang out at the clubhouse, and she’d ask me for pointers. She thought that since I was in the service, I was a better shot than her. Outside some of my military buddies, she was the best shot I’ve ever seen.”
The tragic story of the fall of Gail Hamilton was something straight out of a Greek epic. Still, Ollie had played a role in her downfall.
“I’ve heard she’s stayed sober since she was released from prison. Do you think she could get her aim back?”
“Not likely. She’s not allowed to possess a firearm on account of her conviction.”
“An inconvenient detail like the law hasn’t stopped people before.” It was a snippy response, but this had been the most frustrating investigation I’d undertaken.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, pardon the pun.” He stared out the driver’s side window. “From what I hear, living with Bobcat Burgess has helped turn her life around. You could always go directly to the source. You know, talk to her, instead of asking everybody about her like you’re back in middle school.”
“Very true.” I opened the door. “I gotta get in there. I’ll track her down. Promise.”
I reached my spot next to Mom as the congregation rose to sing the first hymn. Most of the time we had five or more minutes to chat before Mass began, so she raised an eyebrow as she handed me a hymnal.
“I’ll explain later.” I flipped to the correct page as my cheeks got hot. One of Janice Cobb’s superpowers was making her kids feel bad with a simple look.
It was a power I wish I possessed. It would sure help with murder investigations. No doubt about that.
When Mass was over, I explained my late arrival.
“Let’s talk about it over brunch, my treat.” She sighed as she gave me a long look. “It’ll be the last one with my baby girl while she’s still single.”
“Laying the drama on a little thick, aren’t you, Mom?” We strolled to her car. The day was going to be another hot one and the vehicle’s air-conditioning would be a welcome respite from the intense conditions.
She shrugged as she started the engine. “You’ll always be my baby. This is a big moment. And I’ll be honest. There were times I wondered if you’d ever find someone who deserves you.”
My vision got a little blurry, so I acted like I had dust in my eyes. Yeah, that was it. Dust. I’d go with that.
“Brent’s a good guy,” she said as she piloted the car into the line exiting the parking lot. “He might be a little nerdy for my money, but he treats you right. The two of you have a real partnership. Like your father and I did.”
“Do you think Dad would have liked Brent?” It was a question I’d never asked, not of Mom or my siblings. I couldn’t bear even the remotest possibility that someone might say no. And now, the question was out there in the open.
Mom burst out laughing. “Of course he would. Can you imagine how much time they’d spend talking books? He didn’t like that Lance fellow you were dating right before he passed on, to be honest. I think he’s much happier with your choice now.”
“Yeah.” I chuckled as my spirits rose. It was silly to think my father wouldn’t have liked my fiancé, but it was still a relief to get confirmation. “Lance turned out to be a real tool.”
“Do you ever miss New York?” Mom turned into an open parking stop two blocks away from the Brown County Diner. Her parallel parking skill was a thing of legend.
“Sometimes. Going to see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center was always fun. I do miss hanging out with friends from work over a cup of coffee. I’m happy, though. Zero regrets about coming home. Other than the murder investigations, that is.”
Over brunch, I brought Mom up to speed on the investigation. I waited until the end of my report to ask the question I’d been trying to avoid.
“An issue’s come up recently. I don’t think there’s anything to it, but I thought I’d mention it, in the spirit of thoroughness.”
Mom nodded then took a sip of her coffee. Thanks to her years as a doctor, she was skilled in the art of listening.
“There are a lot of people who make sense as suspects. But I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been looking at the evidence the wrong way.” I gulped down a mouthful of my tea. Vocalizing this particular thought was proving way harder to do than I thought. “What if Ollie wasn’t the intended target?”
Mom’s brow furrowed. She didn’t speak for a while. It was as if she was replaying the awful sequence of events in her mind.
I’d done the same thing a number of times while getting ready for church and come up with only one conclusion. I was afraid she’d come to the same one.
“The only other person on the stage with Ollie was Brent. You don’t think . . .”
“That he was the intended target?” There, I’d said it out loud. And while I was still breathing, my chest constricted, and my heart began to hurt. “If so, why? Everyone in town loves Brent. God knows I wish I had his approval rating.”
“Wouldn’t we all?”
We took a break from the discussion when Mayor Angela herself brought us our orders. In a perfect world, she would have had the time to sit and discuss the case with us. Alas, the diner was packed as usual for a Sunday morning. Any words of wisdom from her would have to wait.
When our plates were empty, I asked Mom if she was up for a walk. A short time later, we were strolling down the Boulevard, soaking up the sun’s rays. At Galen Adama’s studio, Mom put her arm around me.
“You know, if you think there’s merit to the idea of Brent being the target, you should go to Matt right now. And then you should step away. There’s no way you can be objective if your fiancé is involved.”
“Come on, Mom. Give me a little credit. I can be objective. It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”
“Sure, when you and Brent were suspects. Never when either of you were supposed to be the victim, though. You’ve told me before, you get involved because you want to speak for the those who can’t speak for themselves. Can you honestly do that, with Ollie’s best interest in mind, if one of the most important people in your life should have had his life taken instead?”
“Okay, now you’re really going too far.” I stepped away and looked down the street to avoid eye contact with her.
“Am I?” She walked around me so she could see me eye to eye. “I think there’s a part of you, even a little piece, that wants Ollie to be the victim so you don’t have to worry about any what-ifs with Brent. Both past and future.”
She had me locked in her gaze. Just like when I was in middle school and she’d busted me and Sloane trying to smoke one of Thornwell’s cigarettes. There was no escape from Janice Cobb in these situations.
Especially because in these situations she was right. Always.
“Fine.” I dropped my hands to my sides as I shook my head. “Maybe I don’t want to think about Brent being in danger. Can you blame me?”
“Of course not, honey.” She wrapped me up in her arms. Despite the heat of the day, the hug was comforting. “You’ve always prided yourself on your clear, methodical thinking with these things. All I’m saying is that you need to be honest with yourself. Consider all possibilities. The facts decide the story. Not the other way around.”
A tear had trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away with my palm.
“I can’t just quit. You know that, right?” I let out a shaky laugh. “This compulsion or whatever I have, sometimes I feel like it’s a curse. I can’t stop, though. Even if I wanted to.”
Mom gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know a number of families who are grateful beyond words you’ve been willing to act on it instead of ignoring it. For them, it’s been a blessing.”
“What do I do now? Do I start from scratch? Do I—”
“Why not go to the source?” She pointed to a handbill taped to the front window of Shirley Price’s shop. It was a notice about Ollie’s memorial service, which was being held in a few hours on the lawn in front of the municipal building.
In an instant, my mood lifted. Next to Mass, a memorial service was the best occasion to look for murder suspects. And to study those I’d identified. It would also be a good way to see which of my suspects didn’t show up.
“Mom, you’re a genius.” I gave her a hug as ideas began bubbling up in my head. “I need to go prepare.”
“And you’ll keep an open mind?”
I promised to do exactly that. Yes, I’d look for signs that Ollie’s murderer was in attendance. I’d also look for indications that someone was filled with an unusual kind of regret.
Regret that they’d murdered the wrong person.