I’ve found my way into Liberty, the coziest of quaint little Midwestern towns. I quite like its quintessential small-town America courthouse and town square. But the true cat’s meow is the large warehouse I found only a few steps away. It would seem that the bipeds who own the building don’t mind sharing their space with an extended family of plump, rather slow mice. My next meal should be, as the locals would say, “easy pickin’s.” Not the gourmet food I’m accustomed to, but I make do when I must.
Now that my belly is comfortably full and nighttime approaches, my next order of business is finding a safe place for a catnap. This building is a veritable Nirvana for my kind. Besides the smorgasbord, this place is packed with loads of shiny objects and at least a dozen jungle gyms. But after making my first jump onto what I thought was a carnival-themed playground, I realize it’s actually a vehicular contraption. In fact, all of these alleged jungle gyms are in fact vehicles, although they don’t seem terribly street-worthy, being decorated within an inch of their lives with streamers, flowers, balloons, and lettered signs. Aha! These are, I believe, parade floats. I do remember overhearing one of the bipeds on the square referring to a Mardi Gras parade coming up.
No matter. There is still plenty of fun to be had and plenty of safe places to rest. As I make one more jump, I’m suddenly face-to-face with a biped. The old chap doesn’t look so good, especially slumped over and with a big knife sticking out of his back. Oh, bother. He appears to be dead. I should alert the proper authorities, or at least an adult biped. As I scan the warehouse, I find that my dead friend and I are all alone. One would think that there should be some sort of security specialist guarding all these lovely floats people have clearly spent time and money to construct. But as I’ve noticed in the short time I’ve been here, Liberty is an awfully small, trusting town. I surmise that could be why there are so bloody many murders that occur around here.
I hear the scrape of a door opening. Huzzah! I won’t have to go far to do my duty in reporting this crime. Perhaps this female biped walking my way can be of some assistance.
Lizzie Hart Morgan had a stop to make before heading home to her family. The Liberty Chronicle, the local newspaper where she and her husband Blake worked, had a float in tomorrow’s Mardi Gras parade, and she was in charge of decorating it. The final touch, a new sign touting that the Chronicle had been voted “Best Local Newspaper” in the tri-county area, had been delivered to the newspaper office that afternoon, and Lizzie had come here after work to affix it to the float.
She called into the darkened warehouse, “Hello? Mayor Howell? Are you here? I thought your text said you’d be here and have the lights on for me.” Shrugging, she turned on her phone’s flashlight and hurried toward the Chronicle’s float. Before she could get there, a black cat crossed her path.
Shuddering, she said, “Oh, no. Not today, Cat. No more bad luck for me. The universe owes me. Scram.”
Instead of scramming, the cat approached her, looking her in the eye and purring.
She complained, “Come on. Can’t you tell I’m not a cat person? No way I’m going to pet you, so keep walking.”
Lizzie tried to dart around the cat, but he blocked her path. She dodged the other way, but he jumped again and cut her off.
Laughing uncomfortably, she said, “Seriously, dude. I have a crotchety cat at home I can’t get rid of. I shouldn’t have to deal with you, too.”
The cat took a swipe at her ankle.
She jumped back. “What’s your problem, jerk?”
The cat let out a loud meow and turned and hopped up onto the closest float. Relieved that she was no longer being held hostage, Lizzie headed toward the Chronicle’s float. The cat kept meowing, but she ignored it, working on affixing the sign quickly so she could get out of there. The cat’s meowing grew louder and louder, finally becoming an unholy caterwauling.
She stalked around the other side of her float and noticed a blur of movement as her new nemesis bounded all the way up to the top of City Hall’s float, where the mayor would sit tomorrow and wave to the townspeople as grand marshal of the parade. “Cat, you’re going to have to shut up.” Shining her phone’s flashlight up toward the source of the sound, her next complaint died on her lips. Sucking in a gulp of air, she croaked, “Mayor Howell?”
Shaking her head, she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to believe what she thought she’d just seen. It couldn’t be. Not again. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe he was narcoleptic and nodded off in random places. More importantly, maybe she’d imagined the big silver knife sticking out of his back.
Stealing another look, her heart sank as she realized she wasn’t wrong. Shivering all the way to her core, she hightailed it out of the warehouse and slammed the door behind her. Her first call was to her husband, who, as her partner in amateur crime solving and the lead reporter for the newspaper, was morbidly excited to hear her news. Her second call was to her childhood friend, William Johnson, a Liberty PD detective who was none too pleased to hear that she’d found yet another dead body.
Lizzie unfortunately knew the routine. Two police officers responded first, and she told her sad story to them. Detective Johnson arrived next, and she retold her story to him. By the time Blake got there, Lizzie was tired of talking about murder and on the verge of crabby.
Blake enveloped his wife in a tight hug and murmured into her ear, “I’m so sorry you had to go through this alone. I wish I hadn’t had to stay at work to finish that article. Are you okay?”
As he let her go, Lizzie shrugged and muttered, “I guess. I should be used to this by now, right?”
He smiled down at her, knowing her go-to defense mechanism, sarcasm, was already kicking into gear. “Not at all. But you’re one of the few people in town tough enough to handle it.”
“So it’s a good thing I’m the one who found the mayor?” she snapped.
He knew any attempt to soothe his wife would be in vain. One of the things he loved most about her was the fire she had in her. He didn’t even mind so much when it was directed at him.
Giving her a devilish grin, he replied, “Of course. Because then I get to hear your first-hand account.”
She frowned at him. “I thought fatherhood had mellowed out your killer investigative instinct. Guess I was wrong, huh?”
“Well, there haven’t exactly been any stories lately that have required the use of my killer investigative instinct. This is big news.” His eyes twinkling, he added, “Who would have thought that being the mayor of Liberty is one of the most dangerous jobs a person could have?”
Still frowning, she grumbled, “Too soon.” Years ago at their engagement party, Lizzie and Blake had stumbled upon the previous mayor’s dead body. It might be a difficult task finding someone who’d be willing to take the job after the last two mayors had met a violent end.
Detective Johnson approached them, his face impassive. “Lizzie, I take it you’ve already spilled your guts about the crime scene to your husband.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like you thought I wouldn’t.”
He let out a sigh. “I gave up hope of that a long time ago.” He addressed Blake. “You know what I’m going to say—none of what she told you can end up in a news article.”
Blake nodded. “Obstruction of justice and all that jazz. Duly noted, Detective.”
As the detective walked away shaking his head, Blake wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist and said, “What do you say we get a sitter for Annabelle and go somewhere quiet for dinner?”
She smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but literally the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now is the thought of going home to our little girl.”
“Then at least let me stop and get us some takeout.”
“Now you’re talking. And I’ll take a raincheck on that quiet dinner.”
He leaned down and gave her a kiss. “You got it.”
Lizzie, Blake, and little ten-month-old Annabelle had just finished dinner (which included an in-depth question and answer session about the crime scene) and settled down on the couch to cuddle and relax when there was a knock at the front door. Lizzie instantly became uneasy and drew Annabelle into her arms. She could tell from the set of Blake’s jaw that he, too, was on edge. They lived a few miles out of town, so they rarely had surprise visitors. She couldn’t hear anything more than murmuring from the front door of their large home, but no sooner than she’d stood and placed Annabelle in her play yard, Blake appeared in the living room, followed by a woman who’d been crying.
He said, “Lizzie, this is Shawna Livingston.”
Before Blake could say another word, the woman turned her tearful gaze to Lizzie. “My fiancé just got arrested for the mayor’s murder!”
Lizzie’s eyes bulged.
“I’m so sorry to bother you at home, but I don’t know who else to turn to.” The woman’s voice broke in a sob.
“Turn to for what?” Lizzie replied, worried she already knew the answer.
“My Joe is innocent. I need your help to get his name cleared.”
There it was. Lizzie had to bite back a groan. It was no secret around town that Lizzie and Blake were quite adept at solving murders. However, Lizzie and Blake had finally realized they were getting too old and parenty to chase killers around.
Lizzie replied, “I’m very sorry to hear about your fiancé’s arrest, Shawna. But we don’t do that anymore.”
Shawna seemed to deflate before her eyes. “But…you’ve helped free a lot of people who were wrongly accused.”
Lizzie shook her head, trying to downplay the woman’s exaggeration. “It wasn’t that many.”
Before she could again express that she and Blake were no longer in the sleuthing biz, Blake said, “You know, I could reach out to one of my contacts in the LPD to see what kind of evidence they have so far in the case.”
Lizzie gave her husband a dangerous glare. “Blake, could I speak to you in the kitchen for a moment?” She picked up Annabelle from her play yard on the way.
Blake followed, closing the kitchen door behind them. “Lizzie, I know what you’re going to say—”
“Then I shouldn’t have to say it!” she hissed, bouncing Annabelle on her hip, hoping her baby girl wouldn’t pick up on her growing angst.
Blake stared at Lizzie. “You know who her fiancé is, right?”
“No. And to be honest, I don’t care.”
“Your old neighbor, Joe Crews.”
“What?” she cried, only to clap her hand over her mouth and lower her voice again. “No. Joe’s a confirmed old bachelor.”
Blake tickled their daughter under her chin, making her giggle. “True story. How do you feel now about giving Shawna the boot?”
Lizzie cringed. Joe had been a great neighbor when she lived by herself. He never hesitated to help her with any kind of repairs around the house. “Not so good.”
“That’s what I figured. Come on. This one should be easy. It’s probably a misunderstanding. You know Joe Crews wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Lizzie shook her head. “I know that, but there’s got to be a reason he got arrested.”
Blake already had his phone out, sending a text as he headed back into the living room. “We’ll be happy to help you, Shawna. In fact, I’ve already started the ball rolling to try to find out what we’re up against.”
Shawna nearly wilted with relief. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
Lizzie could see the wheels turning inside her husband’s head. He was already deep into investigative mode.
He said, “Shawna, do you know of anyone who’d want to set up your fiancé to take the fall for killing the mayor? Anyone out to get him for any reason?”
Tears falling again, Shawna said, “Not really, but…another restaurant owner in town is always coming in Joe’s place and being hateful. He acts like he’s Joe’s friend, but I don’t think he really is. I think he’s jealous that Sam’s Tavern is always crowded. I’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s said some nasty things about how Joe runs his business.”
Joe owned a popular restaurant/bar on the town square named Sam’s Tavern.
“Who is it?”
“Bruce from The Liberty Inn.”
Blake nodded. “We’ll definitely check him out. Thanks for the heads up. We’ll be in touch.”
As Lizzie held her daughter tightly against her, in an effort to calm herself as much as the squirmy girl, Blake and Shawna exchanged phone numbers and he showed her to the door.
When Blake came back to the living room, he took Annabelle from Lizzie and held the little girl above his head. In a funny voice, he said, “Annabelle, can you tell Mommy to quit worrying?”
Lizzie frowned. “I feel like I’m justified, here. Our track record isn’t the best.”
“Our track record is better than the LPD’s when it comes to catching murderers.”
“I was referring to our ability to get into jams. Or have you forgotten that I almost died on our wedding day?”
He held Annabelle in front of him and pretended she was the one speaking. “But you didn’t, Mommy. You kicked the killer’s ass.”
“I got lucky.”
Blake put an arm around Lizzie. “Outsmarting someone has nothing to do with luck. Don’t worry. This time it’ll be different.”
She would have loved to believe him, but something in her gut said otherwise.
Blake knew his wife had spent the night worrying. Normally she slept like the dead, no pun intended, but last night she tossed and turned until finally falling asleep just before dawn. He turned her alarm off and let her sleep while he fed Annabelle, got her ready for daycare, and made a big pot of fresh coffee for Lizzie.
After they dropped off their daughter and headed to work, Lizzie turned to him and said, “Thanks for taking over baby duty and letting me sleep.” The two of them generally shared parenting tasks equally, especially the morning routine, which could become quite time-consuming on the days their sweet but headstrong little girl refused to eat her breakfast.
“It was my pleasure. Annabelle was a little angel this morning.” He threw her one of his killer smiles. “And if I’m being honest, I was trying to score some extra points with her mom.”
Lizzie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I suppose that means you’ve already set up some sleuthing for us to do today.”
“A bit.”
Rolling her eyes, she took a long sip of her coffee. “Lay it on me. Did your contact at the police department give you any inside information?”
“He’s out of town this week, so we’re on our own.”
“Oh.”
“So I was up for a while last night thinking—who’d want to kill Leo Howell?”
“Leo Howell the man or Leo Howell the mayor?”
“Let’s start with the man.”
She thought for a moment. “Well, he was youngish and single, so…”
“Exactly. No significant other, at least none that we know of. And let’s face it, the ladies weren’t beating down his door.” Mayor Howell hadn’t exactly been a GQ model.
Unable to keep a grin from her face, she quipped, “In other words, he was no Blake Morgan, the former most eligible bachelor in Liberty.”
Blake ignored her jab. “He’s from out of town, so I’m thinking there are no long-running good ol’ boy vendettas against him from his youth.”
“Also true.”
“So his death probably has to do with his job as mayor.”
“You mean because he’s leading a charge to turn Liberty into a dry town? He has every beer-chugging hick and wine-guzzling housewife in town up in arms. That doesn’t bode well for Joe, seeing as how that could kill his business. And not for nothing, but I think you could have jumped straight to the whole dry town thing as the most likely motive for his murder.”
Smiling, he replied, “But where’s the fun in that?”
She sighed. “There you go again—legitimately having fun investigating a murder.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I like investigating, because it’s kind of my job. Anyway, I think we should start with the mayor’s assistant. He should know more than anyone about Howell’s potential enemies.” He pulled into a parking spot by the Chronicle office and turned to face her. “I’m sure our coworkers have all heard by now that you’ve found yet another dead body.”
Burying her head in her hands, she mumbled, “Ugh. I don’t want to have to tell the story a million times.”
“I figured as much. We can make one announcement and not take any more questions.”
She raised her head, a hopeful look in her eye. “By ‘we,’ is there any chance you mean ‘you’?”
“Of course. I’m always up for being the center of attention.” As brave as Lizzie was in some situations, getting up in front of a group and speaking still wasn’t something she liked to do. And she liked being pestered by questions even less.
Lizzie grabbed Blake’s face and planted a big kiss on his lips. “You’re the best husband ever.”
“Guilty.”
Surprisingly, the Chronicle staff left Lizzie alone about finding the mayor’s body. For the most part, anyway. She’d caught several people staring at her, but at least they hadn’t said anything. Still, by lunchtime, she was itching to get out of the office, even if it meant diving into a murder investigation.
Blake ambled over and sat on the edge of her desk. He came by to chat multiple times a day, and had done so for years, but Lizzie still got the same flutter in her chest every time he did it. She’d had a major crush on him when they’d first met, and marriage and parenthood hadn’t extinguished it.
She couldn’t hide her smile. “Hey.”
He gave her ponytail a playful tug. “You ready to go see a man about a corpse?”
Wrinkling her nose, she stood and said, “Eww. There are so many other ways you could have said that.”
Before speaking to the mayor’s assistant, Lizzie and Blake took a quick trip to the police station to speak to Joe Crews himself. After getting an eyeroll from the officer on front desk duty, they were taken downstairs to see Joe. The members of the LPD weren’t Lizzie and Blake’s biggest fans, considering their history of meddling in their investigations, so the couple didn’t always get the warmest welcome.
Inside a tiny room, they sat down at a metal table across from Joe. Poor guy looked haggard. A night in jail awaiting a murder charge could do that to a person.
Lizzie said, “Joe, what have you gotten yourself into?”
Joe hung his head. “I don’t know. This is all a big mistake. I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Why are you in here?”
“Because the knife found in the mayor’s back is one of the chef’s knives from the kitchen of my tavern.”
Lizzie and Blake gaped at each other.
Blake asked Joe, “Just a regular chef’s knife?”
Joe nodded.
“Couldn’t it be from anyone’s restaurant, then?”
Joe shook his head. “No. I had trouble a while back with employees taking my good knives, so I etched a small ‘ST’ onto all of them for ‘Sam’s Tavern.’ It wasn’t much, but it was enough to deter whoever was taking them.”
Lizzie sucked in a breath. “So the murder weapon pretty much had your name on it.”
Joe nodded again.
Blake asked, “Who would have access to your knives?”
Shrugging, Joe answered, “Anyone who worked for me in the past two years.” He thought for a moment. “Or, really, anyone who happened to mosey into the kitchen to shoot the breeze with my workers and me. We let people come and go in and out of there.”
“Well, that narrows it down to people you know, people who work for you, and people they know.”
Lizzie shook her head. “That’s the entire town. It doesn’t narrow down anything.” She sighed. “Joe, it kind of sounds to me like someone framed you to take the fall for this. Any idea who’d want to do that to you?”
Joe’s face fell. “No. I don’t feel like I have any enemies.”
Blake said, “Are you sure? There’s no disgruntled former employee or anyone with an old grudge?”
Joe shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”
“What about Bruce Maddox from The Liberty Inn? Shawna told us he’s not your biggest fan.”
“Oh, he likes to hear himself gripe about everything. We’re cool.”
Lizzie smiled. “Everyone likes you, Joe. I’m sure you don’t have any enemies.”
Blake said, “If it’s not about revenge, then there’s another reason someone wanted the mayor dead and you to take the blame. What about someone who is opposed to the mayor’s dry town initiative?”
Furrowing his brow, Joe said, “But anyone opposed to the initiative would be on my side. Surely none of them would want me to take the fall for the mayor’s murder.” He gave them a pleading look. “Do you think you can figure this out?”
A look of determination on his face, Blake said, “We can, and we will.”
Liberty’s City Hall was a madhouse. Everybody and his brother wanted to either express condolences over the mayor’s passing or complain that the evening’s Mardi Gras parade had been cancelled. To no surprise, Blake walked in like he owned the place, barged past the crowd and the harried receptionist, and headed down the back hallway toward the mayor’s assistant’s office.
He knocked on the door, and a voice from inside answered, “Come in.”
The mayor’s assistant was sitting at his desk, frowning at a computer screen. Lizzie didn’t think he looked old enough to be out of high school, much less helping the mayor run the town, but there was a college diploma on his wall decreeing that Hunter Novak had graduated with honors from Indiana University. Only flicking a glance in Lizzie and Blake’s direction, Hunter waved them in and indicated they should sit in the two chairs facing his desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Novak,” Blake said. “Thank you for seeing us during what I’m sure is a difficult time for you.”
Hunter had shifted his attention from his computer to his phone. His fingers flying and eyes on the screen, he replied, “Yeah. Difficult time.”
Blake glanced over at Lizzie and raised his eyebrows a fraction. The mayor’s assistant seemed more put out than upset by his boss’s passing.
Blake said, “Of course I want to do a headline piece about the mayor and his impact on the community. Can you walk me through what your office would want the townsfolk to remember about him?”
Lizzie took the chance to zone out during their question and answer session about the mayor’s life and legacy. But when the two men started talking about the dry town initiative, she perked up.
Hunter said, “Mayor Howell’s pet project was, as I’m sure you know, making Liberty a dry town.”
Blake replied, “Yes. I’ve done a few stories on the initiative, as well as residents’ reaction to—”
Frowning, Hunter interrupted him. “I know.”
At least Blake had the grace to crack a smile. “I’m not here to debate the issue. But I would like to know if you think there’s any merit to the allegations against Joe Crews.”
“Absolutely. He’s been very vocal against the initiative.”
“Right, but do you honestly believe that Crews went so far as to kill Mayor Howell over it?”
“Honestly? Yes. Joe Crews and Bruce Maddox, owner of The Liberty Inn, came into the office two days ago ranting about the mayor’s proposed plan. They had a petition signed by several hundred people, and evidently wanted to rub it in Mayor Howell’s face. When I informed them that Mayor Howell was out of the office for the day, Mr. Crews scribbled a note on the back of the petition and slid it under the mayor’s office door. I went in and read what he’d written. It said, ‘You can’t take away our right to drink. And if you try, you’ll have the fight of your life on your hands. You come after us; we’ll come after you.’ If that’s not a direct threat, I don’t know what is. I gave the note to the police last night after I heard Mayor Howell had been murdered.”
Lizzie’s brow furrowed. “Actually, a direct threat would be, ‘I’m going to kill you.’ Are you saying the police arrested Joe over the phrase ‘we’ll come after you’? That could mean all kinds of things. Like they’d dig up some dirt on him in order to attack his character or push to have him removed from office.”
Hunter stared at her, unblinking. “I’m no detective, ma’am, and I don’t pretend to be. I don’t know the ins and outs of police investigation, but I do know that if our LPD officers arrested someone, they had a darn good reason for doing so. You two would do well to have a little more respect for our boys in blue. It seems to me that you’re considering sticking your noses into yet another murder investigation.”
Blake wasn’t going to take that one lying down. “We have the utmost respect for the LPD, Mr. Novak. That said, we believe that justice for the dead is the most important thing. There are two sides to every story, and I, for one, would do the town a disservice as an investigative journalist if I didn’t consider every angle.”
Hunter stood. “I hate to cut this meeting short, but as acting mayor, I have a number of things to attend to this morning. Surely you understand.”
Blake and Lizzie stood as well. Blake replied, “Yes, of course. Thank you for your time.”
Lizzie said, “Yes, thank you.”
As soon as they were outside, Blake huffed, “Nice dismissal we got there. That guy is a politician if there ever was one.”
“And worse, he’s the one who tattled on Joe to the police.” Lizzie shook her head. “I’m just not seeing Joe barging into City Hall and causing a stir.”
“You mess with a man’s livelihood and he can get crazy.”
“So you’re saying you think he actually could have killed the mayor? He just told us he didn’t.”
Blake shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”
“But you told him you’d figure this whole thing out. If you think he could be guilty, then why are you continuing to investigate?”
A slow smile crept across his face. “Because it’s fun.”
She slapped him on his arm. “I thought we were doing it because Joe’s a good guy and we think he’s innocent.”
“That’s why you’re doing it, my darling. I’m in it for the nitty gritty details.”
Frowning at him, she said, “But you can’t print the details. William said so.”
He held up one finger. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. He said I can’t print the details of the crime scene. Anything I find out on my own is fair game. And I say our next stop is to go have lunch at The Liberty Inn. Two people have mentioned Bruce Maddox now. I think we need to take a hard look at him.”
Lizzie nodded. At least she would be getting some good food out of the deal. As Blake drove across town, doubt about Joe’s innocence niggled at her mind. If the mayor’s dry town initiative went through, it would be a huge deal for Joe. Most of his tavern’s revenue came from alcohol sales. Cutting his profits that drastically could mean having to shut down, which would put a dozen people out of work. Not only that, it would rob the town of a favorite gathering spot. She couldn’t imagine losing her favorite lunch place, especially since it was merely steps away from her office.
“You’re quiet. Are you working out a theory?” Blake asked.
She frowned. “Not a good one.”
He pulled into the parking lot at The Liberty Inn, one of the more upscale restaurants in town. He took her hand. “Don’t get discouraged about your friend Crews’ innocence. We’ve only begun to sleuth.”
She couldn’t help but smile. As usual, her husband was able to not only read her thoughts, but also find a way to lighten her mood and make her feel better. They went inside and ordered lunch, and Blake took it a step further, somehow managing to charm the server into convincing the kitchen to make Lizzie her favorite menu item, chicken and waffles, after breakfast hours.
Once they were alone at their table, he said quietly, “For my money, Bruce Maddox has every bit as much reason as Joe Crews to have offed the mayor. They’re in the same boat. Both establishments have hefty alcohol sales that probably keep them in the black. Maddox simply managed to keep himself off the police’s radar by not making a veiled threat in writing. Who knows? Maybe he put Crews up to it.”
“That’s terrible. I wouldn’t expect Bruce to be like that.”
“Like I said, anything’s possible.” Blake waved the server back to the table. To her, he said, “We’d like to speak to Bruce, if he’s available.”
She smiled. “Yes, he’s in the office. I’ll run and get him.”
Moments later, Bruce Maddox ambled over to their table. Blake got up to shake his hand and offered him a seat at their table.
“Big news around town, eh, Maddox?” Blake said.
Bruce nodded. “A sad day, for sure.”
“True, but I can’t help but think Mayor Howell’s death might—for lack of a better word—kill the dry town initiative. Which I don’t think is a bad thing,” he replied, giving Bruce a knowing wink. Blake was originally from Chicago, but he could play the good ol’ boy game as well as any local around.
A ghost of a smile crossed Bruce’s face, but he quickly covered it up. “Well, I can’t say I hadn’t thought of that, but our mayor’s murder is still a tragedy.”
“No argument there. Did you hear the police arrested Joe Crews?”
“I did.”
“Did you also hear that it was because of the petition you two brought to the mayor’s office?”
Bruce leaned back, a wary expression taking over his face. “Now hold on there, Blake. If you’re trying to say something, say it.”
Lizzie jumped in. “He’s not trying to say anything, Bruce. Just that Joe unfortunately decided to write that note on the back of the petition. That’s what concerned the police. Do you know why Joe did it? I feel like it’s kind of out of character for him.”
“We’re all pretty torqued over the mayor’s stupid initiative. He’s messing with our bread and butter, not to mention playing Big Brother. If people want to unwind and have a drink or two, they should be able to. Prohibition is an antiquated idea. Hell, if marijuana is legal in this country, alcohol should be.”
Blake asked, “Who’s we? Did any other restaurant owners help you put the petition together?”
“I feel like if I start naming names, they’re going to end up in the Chronicle.”
The server came over then and interrupted the conversation, placing two piping hot plates of food in front of Blake and Lizzie. “Can I get you anything else?”
Lizzie salivated over the food. “No, thanks. This looks great.”
As she dug into her chicken and waffles, Blake pressed on with Bruce. “We’re planning to interview everyone in town with a liquor license anyway, so you giving us some names will save us some legwork.”
Bruce hesitated for a good minute before breaking into a strange smile. “A little legwork never hurt anyone.”
“So do you mind if I ask you where you were yesterday between four and five PM?”
“I don’t mind at all.” Bruce stood without answering Blake’s question, throwing a “You two have a nice day,” over his shoulder.
After they finished their meal and left The Liberty Inn, Blake said, “Did you notice Maddox get squirrely when I asked for the names?”
Lizzie, still in a bit of a food coma from her lunch, thought for a moment. “Was that before or after I got my chicken and waffles?”
“After.”
“Ah. Then no. I noticed nothing but carbs, deep fried goodness, and sticky syrup after my lunch arrived.” After what she’d been through last night, she deserved some serious comfort food.
He chuckled. “Well, he got plenty squirrely. And I couldn’t tell if it was because he was trying to cover for someone else or for himself. If he was the only other one in on the petition, I say he’s a great suspect. And if he wasn’t, maybe he knows who is. Either way, I say we follow him tonight.”
She groaned. “I wondered how long it would take before you started talking stakeouts.”
“Come on. Don’t try to act like you don’t love stakeouts.”
He was right. She did enjoy a good stakeout, and it had been a while.
“Fine. If you get a sitter for Annabelle, I’ll go.”
“Consider it done. And while we’re out, we might as well have that raincheck quiet dinner I promised you.”
Grinning, she replied, “Deal.”
Blake made a call and had a sitter for little Annabelle lined up in no time. Work that afternoon was largely uneventful. He turned in a few stories to his wife, the copyeditor, and she ripped them apart and sent them back to him to fix before they went to print. He always got a chuckle about how blunt she was with her comments on his articles. She didn’t sugarcoat anything, even with him.
He knew she wasn’t thrilled about doing any more investigating than was necessary, so he went out on his own that afternoon and ran down a few leads. After compiling a list of local establishments with liquor licenses, he proceeded to visit them and try to speak to their owners. He found out that the owner of Cooper’s Restaurant had been out of town all week, so that alibied her out for the murder as well as any involvement in the petition. The owner of Cantina del Sol wasn’t there, but the manager showed Blake the security footage proving the owner had been behind the bar from four to five PM on the day the mayor died. While the owner had been instrumental in getting the petition together, the video proved he hadn’t killed the mayor, so Blake removed him from the list of possible suspects as well. He visited the one liquor store in town and found the same thing—while the owner was adamant that the mayor’s initiative didn’t see the light of day, there was video proof of the owner’s whereabouts during the mayor’s time of death window. The last place on Blake’s list for now was Freedom Hills Country Club. Upon speaking to the manager, he learned that the golf course was owned by a parent corporation that owned several country clubs in the area. There was no local owner to have taken personal offense at the mayor’s initiative, and the manager himself seemed to lean toward supporting the mayor’s dry town plan. And to top it all off, none of the owners or managers he spoke to would point any fingers at anyone, so he was basically still at square one with no really good suspects.
After work, Blake drove Lizzie to Vecchio’s, hoping to kill two birds with one stone.
Of course his sharp-witted wife called him on it the moment they entered the restaurant. “I assume you’ll want to try to speak to the owner. I can’t imagine the investigative reporter in you would let this opportunity go to waste.”
He grinned. “Busted. I spent the afternoon hitting up restaurants with liquor licenses. I saved this one because I know it’s your favorite.”
“Thanks.”
After they’d been seated in one of the cozy circular booths and ordered their dinners, Blake asked their server if he could speak to the owner. Within a few minutes, Ray Vecchio appeared at their table looking a little harried. It was busy, but he was gracious nonetheless.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan. What can I do for you?”
Blake replied, “Join us, please. I’m doing a piece on how the mayor’s death might affect the dry town initiative, and I wanted to get your take on it.”
Ray’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes grew strained as he sat down. “My take on it is that a man died. Mayor Howell’s death is a tragedy. We should be in mourning, not worrying about political ramifications.”
Lizzie jumped in. “Of course we believe the same thing. The Chronicle is doing a huge tribute to the mayor, and we’ve got enough information for that already. This article is giving service to the part of the community that is openly opposed to the initiative.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Which I assume is where you fit?”
Ray relaxed a bit. “I suppose it’s no secret I’m against making Liberty a dry town. Wine flows here like water. It would be a real blow to my business if that initiative passes.”
Blake asked, “Are you part of the group circulating the petition against it?”
“I am. I was supposed to go with Joe and Bruce to present it to the mayor, but we got slammed that day with a lunch rush and I couldn’t get away.”
Blake and Lizzie exchanged a glance. Ray was being awfully nonchalant about his involvement.
“How about yesterday between four and five? Were you here then, too?”
Ray chuckled. “Isn’t that when the mayor was killed? Because it sounds like you’re asking me if I have an alibi.”
Blake had the grace to look sheepish. “I hated to come out and say it, but yes, that’s what I’m asking.”
“I was getting a root canal at the dentist. You’re welcome to check.” Ray smiled and stood. “I take it you don’t believe Joe Crews killed the mayor, considering you seem to be out looking for other people who might have had a reason.”
She replied, “That’s right. We don’t think Joe has it in him.”
“I agree. He doesn’t. But there are plenty of people in this business who do.”
Blake asked, “Any names come to mind?”
Ray shrugged. “Well, there’s no denying that Bruce Maddox has been leading the charge for our cause. Red Davis from The Old Depot is just as angry, but he’s too flaky to do much more than shake his fist in the air.” Giving them a nod, he said, “I’d better get back to work. If my wife comes out here and finds me jawing, I’ll get in trouble.”
Blake said, “Thanks for your time.” After Ray left, he said to Lizzie, “That’s three people who spoke out against Bruce Maddox now. And based on the way he dodged our questions earlier, I think we’re on the right track with him.”
She said, “I agree. But Ray also mentioned Red Davis. I take it this means we’re also going to have to drop by The Old Depot for an after-dinner drink.”
Wincing, Blake replied, “I’m afraid so. I apologize in advance.”
They had that lovely, quiet dinner Blake had promised, but then it was time to get to work. They headed to The Old Depot, a dive bar housed in the old train depot, which was still standing from back in the olden days when passenger trains came through town. It was a great location, but the place was filthy, in disrepair, and known for being so dangerous, only a small subset of Liberty residents patronized it. There was at least one knock-down-drag-out bar fight there per week.
Lizzie had to suppress a shudder when her shoes stuck to the floor as she walked inside.
Blake sidled up to the bar across from the bartender, who’d just thrown back a shot of whiskey. “Hey, Red.”
Red Davis was at the point in his nightly alcohol consumption when he could no longer focus his eyes. “Do I know you, pretty boy?”
“Yes, you know me.”
“Is it because you’re a good tipper?”
“Yes.”
Lizzie gave Blake a questioning look. To her knowledge her husband had been in the bar a grand total of two times, and that had been well over a year ago. There was no way Red remembered him.
Red gave them a not-so-toothy smile. “Well, then. What can I do you for?”
Blake replied, “Two beers.”
Lizzie, who’d been eyeing the cloudy drink glasses behind the bar, added, “Bottled.”
Red stumbled over to the refrigerator and came back with their drinks. “That’ll be twenty bucks.”
“For two beers?” Lizzie griped.
Jerking his thumb at Blake, Red slurred, “Pretty Boy here can afford it.”
Blake took two twenties out of his wallet and set them down on the bar. “There’s an extra twenty in it for you if you’ll answer a couple of questions.”
Red accepted the cash and put it in his shirt pocket. “Shoot.”
“Who else—besides you, of course, being a bar owner—is adamantly opposed to the mayor’s dry town initiative?”
“Everybody in their right mind, I reckon. Damn fool mayor thinks he can control us? Not a chance.”
Blake nodded. “And exactly how angry have you been with the ‘damn fool mayor’?”
Red raised his voice. “He’s going to ruin me. This bar’s all I got. I’ll fight this with my last breath!” Getting overly agitated, he let out a wheezy cough.
Lizzie said, “In my opinion, the fight is over. Unless the city council decides to run with it or the new mayor picks up the torch—both of which are highly unlikely since the issue is so divisive—the initiative is as dead as Mayor Howell.”
Blake added, “The mayor’s death is a positive thing for someone like you. Where were you yesterday between four and five?”
The bartender’s eyes got wide. “Probably, uh…well, uh…probably right here the whole time. I don’t…rightly recall.”
Lizzie and Blake shared a look. Old Red was suddenly sweating bullets. She pressed, “Do you recall if anyone was here with you? An employee, maybe?”
Red’s face turned red, and he practically shouted back, “I said, I don’t rightly recall.”
Blake shrugged. “I would think someone who’s as outspoken as you are against the mayor should have a solid alibi for when the mayor was killed.”
“But…but they arrested Joe. Why are you coming into my place and accusing me?”
Lizzie said, “Everyone knows Joe’s no killer. Sure, there’s evidence against him, but it’s not solid. The truth will come out. We’re just trying to make it happen sooner rather than later. You seem like you know something, Red. Why don’t you help us out?”
Red seemed to be trying to keep calm, but between his hot temper and his drunken state, all he could reply was a bunch of gibberish before he took off out the back door.
Blake turned to Lizzie. “I don’t know about you, but Red just became my new favorite suspect. He’s shifty, he’s got a mean streak, and he had everything to lose if the mayor’s initiative went through.”
She wasn’t quite as convinced. “But he’s also a raging drunk, so chances of him masterminding a murder, pinning it on someone else, and not getting caught doing it are slim. But I think he definitely knows something.”
“Agreed. Let’s go find out where old Red took off to.”
They left their untouched beers and went outside, heading around to the rear of the building. It was dark, and they could see no one was milling around outside the back of The Old Depot.
Lizzie frowned. “Surely he didn’t drive off, especially in his condition.”
“I would hope not.” Blake squinted in the darkness. “I think I see some movement over there.” He began striding toward the railroad tracks with Lizzie on his heels.
Instead of Red, they found a black cat wandering toward them.
Lizzie stopped walking. “Oh. It’s just a cat.”
“A beautiful cat.”
She rolled her eyes. “You and your cats.”
Blake kneeled down and put out his hand. “Here, kitty.”
“Don’t try to pet a strange cat, Blake. He might have a disease you could bring home to Bob.”
“Suddenly you care about Bob?”
The cat came close enough that she could get a good look at it. She gasped. “No. Not that cat.”
“What do you mean ‘that cat’? Do you somehow know this cat?”
Ignoring her husband, she hissed, “Go away, cat. You are bad luck.”
The cat rubbed its head against Blake’s outstretched hand.
“Black cats aren’t bad luck. That’s an old wives’ tale. This little guy is sweet.”
“I know black cats aren’t bad luck. I’m saying this particular cat is bad luck. It was there when I found the mayor’s body last night. The thing practically led me straight to him.”
Blake raised one eyebrow. “A cat led you to a dead man?”
Lizzie huffed, “Not exactly. But…sort of.”
The cat started walking away from them, stopping after a couple of paces to turn around to stare at them. He then walked a little farther and turned again, as if seeing if they were going to accompany him down the tracks.
“Creepy,” Lizzie murmured.
“He’s not creepy. Maybe he wants us to follow him. Maybe he’ll lead the way to another dead guy.”
“All the more reason not to follow him.”
Blake started walking toward the cat. “What could it hurt?”
They followed the cat several yards down the railroad tracks. The cat veered off and began walking down a sidewalk, toward an older residential area. Lizzie and Blake continued to follow.
She complained, “Blake, this is stupid. I’m not following a cat around and calling it investigative work.”
“Just give it a minute.”
“Is your Spidey sense tingling or something?”
“Yes.”
After following the cat another block, Blake suddenly grabbed his wife by the waist and pulled her into the yard of the house they were passing, hiding the two of them in the shadows of a low-hanging tree. “You hear that?”
She listened intently. She heard an agitated voice not too far from them.
“A couple of hipsters just came in the bar asking all kinds of questions. I was afraid I’d let something slip, so I hightailed it out of there.”
The voice belonged to Red Davis.
Blake’s jaw dropped. “Hipsters? Really?”
“That’s your takeaway?” Lizzie hissed. “Red knows who killed the mayor.”
Red continued, “I came home to hide out for a while. I don’t want to run into them again. I’m too flustered to think straight.” After a pause, he said, “I will. ‘Bye.”
Blake had his phone out. After a moment, he said, “His address is 514 Maple. The next house over.” Glancing toward the house, he added, “Right where our feline friend is standing.”
Sure enough, the black cat was directly in front of Red’s house, staring straight at the front door.
Lizzie let out an involuntary shudder. “Okay, now do you agree there’s something creepy about that cat?”
Blake pulled her out of the shadows and headed toward Red’s house. “Nope. And I’d say this black cat is officially good luck. I think we’re about to crack this case wide open thanks to him.”
She stopped in her tracks and tugged on his hand so Blake would stop, too. “Hold up, there. Is your plan that we knock on Red’s door and demand he tell us who killed the mayor?”
He nodded. “I think it’ll work. He said he’s flustered. I say we fluster him some more.”
“Why don’t we just call the police and let them fluster him?”
Blake gave her a blank stare.
She held up both hands in defeat. “I know, I know. Where’s the fun in that?”
“You know me so well, my dearest wife.”
Blake strode up to the door and knocked. After a minute passed, Red opened the door. From the looks of him, he’d managed to get even drunker.
“Whaddayawant?” he slurred, bleary-eyed.
“We want to talk some more,” Blake said. “You know who killed the mayor. Just tell us.”
Red stumbled back several paces and fell to the floor. Blake and Lizzie hurried into the house to help him.
Blake kneeled down over Red. “He passed out. Let’s get him onto his couch.”
Between the two of them, Blake and Lizzie managed to haul scrawny Red over to his couch and lay him out flat. Lizzie ran to the kitchen to get a towel and some water. She came back to Blake slapping Red’s cheeks.
“Blake,” she griped. “Let’s try a kinder approach.” She wet the towel with cold water and placed it on Red’s forehead. “Red. Hey, Red.”
No response.
Blake said, “Tick tock. The kinder approach is taking too long.”
“Just give me a minute.” She squeezed a little of the water from the towel onto Red’s face. It must have run into his nose, because he sneezed and opened his eyes a fraction. “Wakey, wakey.”
Red groaned.
Blake said, “Red, let’s get at it before you pass out again. Who killed the mayor? Did you do it?”
Red suddenly hauled himself off the couch and lunged for a box sitting on his coffee table. He pulled out a revolver and waved it wildly. “No! And no more questions! I’m in charge now.”
In one swift movement, Blake had Lizzie tucked behind him and was backing the two of them away from Red. In a steady voice, he said, “No reason to get upset. We’ll be leaving now.”
“You’re not going anywhere. Especially to the cops.”
Lizzie said, “Red, come on. You don’t want to do this. It’ll only make matters worse.”
The door opened, and Shawna Livingston walked in. Gasping, she cried, “Uncle Red, what are you doing? Put the gun down!”
Red replied, “Shawna, get out of here. I’ll handle this.”
“No! Please don’t. Too many people have been hurt as it is.”
“I said I’d handle it, Shawna! Go home!”
Tears ran down her cheeks. “I want to come clean.”
Red shook his head so vehemently he almost fell down. “Don’t you say another word, young lady.”
Shawna turned to Lizzie and Blake. “I killed the mayor.”
“No!” Red cried. He cocked the trigger and pointed the gun straight at Blake. “You forget you heard that, pretty boy.”
A blur of black flew through the air, knocking the gun from Red’s hands. Blake dove on it before Red even knew what had happened. After removing the bullets and storing them in his pocket, Blake put the unloaded gun back in the box on the coffee table.
He turned to Lizzie. “See? I told you that cat was good luck. He just saved us.”
The black cat was sitting next to a dazed Red on the couch, acting as if he owned the place.
Lizzie shook her head and got out her phone. “Okay, okay. I’m a believer. Can we call the police now?”
Shawna put her hand over Lizzie’s. “Let me call them. I want to turn myself in.”
Shrugging, Lizzie put away her phone while Shawna made the call.
After Shawna hung up, Lizzie said to her, “Why in the world would you ask us to investigate the case if you were the one who killed Leo Howell? Did you not think we’d figure out you did it?”
She put her head in her hands. Her voice muffled, she said, “I wasn’t thinking straight. All I wanted was to get Joe out of jail. I hoped I could push you toward other suspects long enough to give myself time to figure out how I was going to handle it.”
Blake said, “Why did you do it?”
She sighed. “I did it for Joe. I was trying to help him.”
Lizzie’s brow furrowed. “By killing the mayor with a knife from Joe’s kitchen? Did you not know he’d carved ‘ST’ on all his knives to cut down on employee theft?”
“No. He doesn’t like to talk business when we’re together. That’s how I knew this initiative was upsetting him—it was all he could talk about. I wanted to make his problems go away.” After a hesitation, she added, “And I was worried we couldn’t afford the wedding of my dreams if Joe’s business went under.”
Sirens could be heard in the distance.
Shawna let out a whimper.
In a kind voice, Blake said, “Look, I’m sure the police will go as easy as they can on you if you tell them exactly what you told us. We won’t say a word about the whole gun incident. You don’t need to worry about your uncle, either.”
“Thanks,” she murmured.
Blake turned to Red. “And you…sober the hell up. Your niece is going to need you.”
Red nodded.
Lizzie said, “We’ll be going now. No need to even mention we were here.” She figured the police didn’t need to know about their involvement.
Blake and Lizzie headed outside, followed by the black cat. They walked quickly down the street, clearing the block as the first police car pulled up in front of Red’s house.
Chuckling, Lizzie said, “I have to say, Shawna managed to take the concept of Bridezilla to a whole new level.”
Blake took her hand and kissed it. “No kidding. And I’m sorry things got a little out of control.”
“Shocker, and I totally told you so. But I will admit that I’m glad the cat was around.”
Glancing behind them, Blake said, “Where did he run off to? I hoped he’d stick around. He’d make a perfect replacement grand marshal for the rescheduled Mardi Gras parade. Everyone loves a hero.”
My job is done, yet again. Huzzah!
Not only did I manage to solve the mystery of the massacred mayor, but I also saved two fairly intelligent bipeds from danger in the process. Oh, and I do believe I managed to turn a cat hater into at least a cat liker. Three cheers for Trouble!