I speed dialed Jeanette as I hopped on my bike. When she answered, I got straight to the point.
“Meet me outside the station. I’ll be there in five. It’s about Ollie Watson’s murderer.” I ended the call before she had a chance to ask me what was going on.
With a burst of energy that came from a successful mission, I cranked down on the pedals to get the wheels moving as fast as possible. For me, there was nothing else to be done. It was up to the police now.
God bless her, Jeanette was waiting by the curb in front of the police station. I skidded to a stop, then showed her a photo on my phone. It was a zoomed-in shot of the rifle with the scope still attached.
“It’s the gun used to shoot Ollie.” My words came out in halting fashion as I sucked in air between each one. I’d pedaled like a banshee had been right on my tail. Jeanette would determine whether the lung-busting effort had been worth it.
Her brow furrowed as she studied the photo. “Where’d you take this?”
That wasn’t the response I was looking for. Rather than answer her, I showed her the receipt.
“From the day Ollie was murdered. Gail saw a man matching Jax Michaels’s description in the area where the shot was taken. I think he got a temporary tattoo to throw people off his scent. And stashed the rifle in the guitar case so he could have it close by without anyone else suspecting a thing.”
After a few tense moments, she examined the receipt, holding it at arm’s length like it was made of biohazardous material.
“Let me get this straight.” She pointed to the photo on the screen. “You think this is the weapon the shooter used to murder Ollie Watson. And you think this receipt proves Jax Michaels is the murderer.”
“Yes. We already know he was at the Martins’ party, but nobody can confirm his alibi at the time of the shooting. It all fits. Then there’s this.” I showed her the photos of the bullets. “They’re the same kind that was recovered at the crime scene. What more do you need?”
She shook her head. “I need to know how you came to be in possession of these things.”
Her concern was understandable. Jeanette was a good cop. She did things the right way, keeping the public’s safety in mind as much as an individual’s constitutional rights. We were talking about evidence in a murder case, though, so an old reliable answer came to mind.
“An anonymous tipster. That’s all I can say.”
“All you can say or all you will say? Allie, I love you like a sister, but sometimes your decision-making leaves a lot to be desired.”
“I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath. “Is it the murder weapon or not?”
After giving me an intense glare that made me glad Jeanette couldn’t literally shoot daggers with her eyes, she gave the photos of the rifles a second look.
My heart rate slowed to match the deliberate pace Jeanette was using during her inspection. It was gratifying that, for now at least, she was giving me the benefit of the doubt.
Next, she looked at the bullet photos. Ten minutes had passed by the time she returned the phone to me.
“I’m sorry, Allie. This isn’t it.”
“Great.” It took my mind a few seconds to catch up to my mouth. “No, wait. What do you mean, this isn’t it?”
“The rifle with the scope. It’s not the murder weapon. It’s similar, but that’s it. From what I can tell, the caliber of bullet the one in this picture uses is different from the one used that night. I’m sorry.”
Jeanette’s words entered my brain but failed to make sense. “But the bullets. They fit, right?”
“That’s true. But they’re smaller than the proper size for this rifle. If someone tried to fire them with the gun in the photo, they could get lodged in the barrel and bad things would happen.”
The explanation was a blow to my solar plexus. I had to grab the handlebars to steady myself as intense pain radiated out from my heart to my limbs. My eyes clouded with tears, and I began to shake.
How could I have been so wrong?
“I appreciate all you’re doing to help with this.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I also know your anonymous source is trying to do the right thing. At this point, though, I’d recommend you tell this person, whoever it is, thank you but it’s time to let the Rushing Creek PD do their jobs. We’re making good progress here. We got this. You need to kick back and enjoy these next few days.”
“Okay, I’ll do that. Sorry to bother you.” I collected the receipt and my phone and took off. Once I was out of Jeanette’s visual range, I pulled over and called Calypso.
“Are you okay?” The woman sure knew when it was time to forgo pleasantries.
“Yeah. I’ll fill you in later. Is Jax still at your place?”
“Affirmative. Not for much longer, though.”
“Gotcha. Be in touch.” Plan B formed in my brain. After he left Calypso, Jax could go anywhere. He might head home. Or, he might not. Despite the bitter taste of disappointment in my mouth, I got moving. If Jax had another appointment, I could go back for more snooping. There were still more windows, both on the ground and basement levels, to check out.
At this point, I needed something to hold on to. Even if it was something small, like taking photos of something incriminating and getting away scot-free.
My mind turned in tandem with the bike’s wheels during the ride. It was a much slower pace this time around. I wanted time to think and also didn’t want my return to be so hasty I’d miss signs that he might already be home.
Taking a corner wide enough to prevent an accidental wipeout on some loose gravel, I arrived at a simple question. If not Jax, then who? Every other suspect had been taken off the board. That meant there was someone else who everyone had overlooked.
Or he was the murderer.
I pounded my fist on the handlebar. That had to be it. Except for the rifle, all the pieces fit.
Jax’s house came into view the same moment a new thought came to me. There were two other hunting rifles in the gun safe. I’d assumed the one with the scope attached, which was the only one I’d zoomed in on in any detail, was the murder weapon.
In my excitement, I hadn’t bothered to take a close look at the other two rifles. Instead, I made a leap in logic that wasn’t supported by the facts. Dang. I’d let the desire to have the story fit the facts override clear, analytical thinking. Jane Marple, and Mom, would be disappointed in me.
I’d let my old feelings about the man cloud my judgment.
He’d screwed over and embezzled from Sloane’s dad when he’d worked as Thornwell’s property manager. Jax had been furious when I exposed his secret. He’d even gone as far as to accuse me of ruining his life.
It was an accusation I’d dismissed at the time as sour grapes. For reasons I wasn’t privy to, the authorities chose not to pursue the embezzlement allegations. I thought the man got off easy.
I wasn’t going to let him off the hook again.
The house was still dark when I arrived. There was no sign of his truck, either. I crossed my fingers and headed back up the driveway. Hopefully he had, in fact, gone to another appointment.
Whatever the reason for his absence, I chuckled as the old saying about God taking care of fools, drunkards, and babies popped into my mind. There wasn’t much doubt which category I fit into.
One good thing about having to make a return trip was that I knew right where to go. In seconds, I was back on my perch outside the spare bedroom.
Without any idea when Jax would return, speed was critical.
I gave myself a few moments to take another look-see. This time, when I zoomed in, I kept my focus on the hunting rifles.
Discretion whispered in my ear that it was time to go. I’d tempted fate enough by snooping around the man’s house not once but twice. It would be tough to talk my way out of it if I got caught now. There was no doubt Jax would revel in the chance to watch the cops hauling me away in the back of a squad car.
“Sorry, discretion. I’m not giving up.” I took a series of close-up photos of the other two hunting rifles. In a moment of inspiration, I moved the viewscreen up to a shelf above the firearms. There was another scope. Yes. I snapped off a few more shots, doing my best at making sure it was as clear as possible.
Riding a surge of conquest-filled adrenaline, I made certain I covered up evidence of my presence by smoothing the disturbed soil and nudging the day lilies back into position. My exuberance was short-lived, however. Walking toward the pole barn to put the stepladder back yet again, the rumble of a truck’s engine caught my attention.
Tendrils of ice-cold panic began to take hold as I jetted into the barn to get a look toward the road from under some cover. Jax’s truck was at the end of the driveway.
My saving grace was that he was out of the truck checking the mailbox.
Keeping low to the ground, I scuttled to the house and hopped on my bike. Where to go? What to do? Was I better off trying to hide or staying put and attempting to talk my way to freedom? Could I make a full-speed sprint for the road? Maybe I could be long gone before he realized the intruder was me.
“In for a dime, in for a dollar, Allie.” I shook my head. “No running and no staying in place.”
The time to make a stand was at hand. After I found someplace to hide and regroup, that is.
A moment later, I was hidden behind the pole barn. My bike lay on its side at my feet, concealed among the tall grass. Crouched down on one knee, I texted Calypso to let her know where I was. If the situation got really out of hand, and nobody heard from me again, at least she’d be able to tell the authorities where my last known location was.
Assuming she got the message. Cell service was notoriously spotty in this part of Brown County.
Once the text was away, I got down on all fours and crawled to the corner of the barn. I wanted a quick look to assess the situation before making my next move.
As soon as I popped my head out from behind the wall, a man-shaped shadow appeared before me.
“Why, Miss Allie Cobb. Why are you hiding behind my barn?” He aimed a hunting rifle at me. “And more to the point, did you know I have a sign in my front window that trespassers may be shot?”