The Dead of Winter
When her brother calls to say he’s been in an accident and needs her help, literary agent and amateur sleuth Allie Cobb doesn’t hesitate to go to him. And though she’s worried for his safety, her concern turns to confusion when she learns that he ran his truck into a ditch to avoid hitting a large safe sitting in the middle of the road. Stranger still, when the safe is opened, police discover the grisly remains of the local gun club president.
All the evidence indicates the dead man was poisoned by lethal injection, and that the drugs could only have come from Allie’s favorite veterinarian. Determined to prove the woman’s innocence, Allie’s digging reveals that the victim’s wife may have wanted him out of the picture, and also that he was embroiled in a long-running dispute with a local businessman. With no shortage of suspects and a very ominous sense of danger lurking around her, Allie will have to watch her back, because until the killer is caught, nobody’s safe . . .
Title Page
Copyright
The Dead of Winter
J. C. Kenney
Beyond the Page Books
are published by
Beyond the Page Publishing
Copyright © 2021 by J. C. Kenney
Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
ISBN: 978-1-954717-37-4
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Acknowledgments
A book isn’t a solo project. Far from it, in fact. With that in mind, I’d like to thank my editor, Bill Harris, for his belief in the Allie Cobb Mysteries. A shout-out also goes to the team at Beyond the Page Publishing, who work so hard at taking my words and giving them a polish. A tip of the hat goes to my fab agent, Dawn Dowdle, for her steadfast belief in my stories. Last, but not least, a big high five to you, Dear Reader. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you!
Contents
Chapter One
A wise woman once opined that ships at a distance carry every person’s greatest wish on board. I don’t know whether the observation’s true. What I did know, as I pummeled my kickboxing bag with a left-right-left combination—wham, wham, wham—was that I was bone-weary of the slate gray skies and unending snow flurries the first week of February was subjecting us to.
“Take that, snow”—I kicked the bag with my right leg—“and that, ice,” and hammered the canvas again with my left.
It had been a brutal winter. Bone-chilling cold had conspired with unrelenting snow to keep me indoors almost round the clock.
Which made exercise one of the most important parts of my routine. And not just to maintain physical fitness. The workouts helped my mental and emotional fitness. With the weather so lousy, my bike rides and walks with my tortoiseshell cat Ursi had been reduced to a fraction of what they were in decent weather. Without the endorphin-releasing exercise, I risked sinking into a depression-like funk. I had no interest in letting that happen.
The timer on my phone went off, the insistent beep beep signaling the end of my sixty-minute session. I finished with a jump kick I’d been working on. I landed a touch off-balance and needed an extra step to keep from falling to the floor. My not-so-graceful gymnastics sent Ursi scrambling to a corner of the room.
“Totally nailed it.” I bowed to her after regaining my balance. “Simone Biles has nothing on me. Okay, maybe a little.”
Despite my lack of grace, the workout-induced rush made me feel as powerful as Wonder Woman. Mission accomplished. I doused my face with water. As I wiped it off with a towel, I squeezed the water bottle for a second to shoot a stream at Ursi.
She reared up on her hind legs and batted at the liquid. Most of it landed on top of her head but a few drops ended up on her nose. She made those disappear with a single lick of her pink tongue. When her nose was dry, she used her paws to remove the water from up top.
Once her grooming was complete, she gave me her signature long, unblinking stare. She wanted more water but was way too refined to lower herself to ask for it.
I was powerless against her golden-eyed stare.
“As you wish, my queen.”
Ursi trotted alongside me into the kitchen. She started licking from the fountain the second I finished freshening her water. As she batted a paw at the stream, “The Promise” by outlaw country artist Sturgill Simpson sounded from my phone.
My brother Luke was calling. It was almost ten. Hearing from him so late in the day was almost unheard of. He abided by the rule our mother lived by: one never called after nine o’clock.
Unless it was an emergency.
We exchanged a quick greeting, then he cut to the chase. “I need a favor. Can you go to the house, get Sloane’s car, and meet me on the highway out by the community center?”
“Okay. Do I want to know why?” Luke had made weird requests over the years, but this one had to be in the top three on the strange scale.
“I was on my way home after cleaning at the center. I was in an accident. The truck’s not drivable, so I need a ride home.”
“Say no more.” I changed clothes, grabbed my helmet, and was out the door before Ursi finished eating the snack I gave her.
The thought of going for a bike ride during the first week of February, at night no less, might bother other folks. Not me. As someone who didn’t own a car, I’d become quite adept at getting around on two wheels in every kind of weather.
The thing that made me crank my pedals as fast as I could wasn’t the thought of trading my ride for the comfort of his wife Sloane’s Subaru. I was concerned about Luke’s condition. Sloane was out of town getting in some warm-weather training for her professional trail-running career. That meant my brother needed someone to fill in for her.
If he called our mom, she’d overreact. Par for the course since she was a family physician who worried about her three adult children every bit as much as she did when we were still in diapers. Our sister Rachel was at home with her school-aged twins, Tristan and Theresa. Asking her to go on rescue duty for an indeterminate amount of time was a nonstarter.
A key stashed under the back door mat got me into the house. I made a beeline to a rack in the kitchen and grabbed a fob for Sloane’s car and went right back outside. My total amount of time in the house was fewer than ninety seconds.
Once within my bestie’s Subaru, the Green Hornet as she called it, I let out a long breath. My hands were trembling, and my heart was racing like I was still in front of the kickboxing bag. My fight-or-flight response was in overdrive.
That wouldn’t do.
While I had a driver’s license, I only got behind the wheel a few times a month, at most. Sometimes, weeks would go by between stints in the driver’s seat. When I did drive, it was usually to borrow Mom’s car for a rare errand that took me to Columbus or Indianapolis. Getting into a crash on a rescue mission would be a massive failure I’d never live down, so I closed my eyes and counted to ten.
It was a damp, gloomy night. Even with the defroster on full blast, the windshield kept wanting to fog over. Given my small stature and slight frame, I leaned close to the steering wheel to guide the vehicle through the soup. It was an exercise in patience, as I never even got near the speed limit, even though I wanted to get there as soon as possible.
As I came upon the accident scene, flashing red lights from emergency response vehicles gave me plenty of time to pull off the road and come to a stop. Which was good. Without them, I might have plowed into a tow truck that was only partly pulled over to the side of the road.
The scene was also one of the strangest I’d ever laid eyes on.
Luke’s truck had ended up in the ditch by the side of the road. Its amber flashers blinked on and off, warning other motorists to steer clear. The front end on the driver’s side had been smashed in, as if he’d rammed full speed into a concrete wall. A black object about the size of a refrigerator lay in the middle of the road. It didn’t take an accident reconstructionist to conclude that’s what Luke had crashed into.
With a fear that my brother was seriously injured, I double-timed it for the ambulance. On my way, I surveyed the situation. There were no other vehicles involved. That was something to put into the plus column.
I rounded the back corner of the emergency vehicle to find my brother sitting upright in the open doorway. He grimaced as he touched his head, which made me cringe. Still, it was way better than being prone on a stretcher.
“Did someone call for Allie’s Uber Service?”
Luke took a lot of pride in his job. Getting into an accident while on the clock would have him in a sour mood. The least I could do was attempt to lighten it.
“Hey, there, K.C.” Boomer, a paramedic I’d gotten to know thanks to my various scrapes with danger, was applying a bandage to Luke’s forehead. “Quite the change to be treating a member of the Cobb family who isn’t you.”
“I’m sure my health insurance carrier agrees. How’s my bro?”
K.C. was short for the Kickboxing Crusader. Sloane had given me the nickname in the aftermath of the first murder investigation I’d solved. The moniker was a compliment, but it made me uncomfortable. The real heroes were the public safety workers, like police, fire, and EMS. They took care of people every day, without any of the fanfare they deserved.
“He’ll live. He’s got a nasty cut under that bandage on his head and there will be some bruising from the air bag deploying. There are indications of a mild concussion, too.”
I looked at Luke. “Do you want to go home or to the hospital to get that noggin of yours checked out?”
My brother and Boomer exchanged a look.
“I’ll give you two a minute while I complete my report.” Boomer left us.
Luke must have known what question was coming because he held up his hand like a stop sign.
“Since I was on the job when all this went down”—he swept his hand in the direction of his truck—“I have to take a drug test. They need to make sure I’m not drunk or high or anything like that.”
“That’s insane. You’d never do anything stupid like that. Let me go talk to someone.” I turned away but was stopped by Luke’s hand around my arm.
“Don’t. It’s an insurance thing. And before you ask, no, I’m not on anything.” He gave me a little grin. “In the coming days, I better not hear any crazy stories that you fed to Mom. Even in this condition, I can still put you in a headlock and give you a noogie.”
I snorted. “Never. Have you forgotten I’m the one who laughs in the face of death? The upholder of truth, justice and the American Way.”
“Help me, Boomer. Make her stop. Please.”
Our laughter ended abruptly when he grimaced.
“Yeah, hospital it is. ASAP.”
Tommy Abbott was the lead police officer on the scene. I paid him a visit while Boomer went over some instructions with Luke. He was crouched down like a baseball catcher, staring at the black box as I approached.
“What is that thing?” I pointed at it with my phone.
He greeted me with a nod. “A gun safe.”
I don’t know what I’d expected him to say, but gun safe wasn’t it. While I didn’t own any firearms, I knew many people who did, Luke included. A gun safe wasn’t the type of thing to be found in the middle of a state highway. Especially one as large as a refrigerator.
“Any idea how it got there?”
“That, my friend, is the million-dollar question.” He got to his feet. “According to Luke, it was just sitting there, in the middle of the road. He claims that, on account of the fog, he didn’t see it until the last second.”
“Claims? What are you implying?” A flicker of indignation bloomed to life in my belly.
My brother wasn’t perfect, but he was a good person and a dedicated public servant. He wouldn’t put his position as the director of the Rushing Creek Parks Department at risk for anything.
“I’m not implying anything. Just relating what he told me. I know he’s your brother, but you of all people should know not to draw conclusions until all the facts are in.”
I rubbed my temples to give me a few seconds to compose myself. Tommy was right, but it was my brother we were discussing. Other than some of his fashion choices, Luke didn’t make poor decisions. Besides, getting snippy with Tommy wouldn’t solve anything.
“Fair enough. Do you think there’s a way to find its owner?”
“A gun safe of this size and quality’s expensive. We’ll check to see if one was reported lost or stolen. If we strike out there, we’ll take the next step.”
Luke joined us. He handed me a folded sheet of paper. “That’s my paperwork for the hospital. Boomer says I’m good to go.”
Tommy straightened up and shook Luke’s hand. “I’m glad you’re not hurt too bad. If you’re up to it, I’d like for you to come to the station tomorrow to get a formal statement down on paper.”
Once they agreed on a time, Luke and I strolled to Sloane’s car. I cut him off as he angled for the driver’s side.
“No way. Until you’re cleared to drive, you’re assigned wingman status.” I got in behind the wheel.
“Now you’re just milking this.” His smile as he buckled in turned to a grimace when I started the engine. I didn’t like to see signs he was in pain.
The drive to the hospital was a thousand percent less stressful than my mad dash to the crash scene. Luke was quiet, but he didn’t appear to be in any serious distress. As we approached the sliding doors at the building’s main entrance, a weight slipped from my shoulders. I was confident my brother wasn’t seriously injured. Still, it was a relief to have him in the hospital in case he took a turn for the worse.
One of the upsides to living in a small town is that often there’s not much of a wait to be seen by a doctor in the emergency room. It seemed like only minutes had passed when Luke rejoined me.
“Drug test is complete. The doc thinks it’s just a bump to the noggin. Let’s get out of here.”
I loved my brother with all my heart. I also knew when he was trying to play tough guy. Like right now. I snatched the discharge papers from him.
“Uh-huh. ‘Patient is exhibiting concussion-like symptoms.’ I’m staying at your place tonight so I can keep an eye on you. Don’t want you getting up in the middle of the night, blacking out on your way to the bathroom, and hitting your head again.”
He rolled his eyes, and winced, again. “Don’t be a drama queen, Allie.”
“And don’t be a bullheaded fool.” I whacked his arm with the paperwork. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be fine, but I owe it to Sloane to make sure. We’ll stop at my apartment so I can get a few things. This way, I can take you to the station tomorrow, too. Better safe than sorry.”
“Fine.” He put his hands up like he was surrendering. “God, you can be so bossy. Sloane’s a lot nicer than you. You know that?”
“Of course I do.” I laced my arm through his and guided him toward the exit. “That’s what makes my bestie and me such a great pair. She’s the good cop, I’m the bad cop.”
“You can say that again.”
“She’s the good cop, I’m the bad cop.”
He snorted and gave my arm a squeeze. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most annoying little sister ever?”
“Only you and Rachel. Out of a worldwide population of over seven billion, that’s a pretty stellar percentage, don’t you think?”
“You are such a dork.” He eased himself into the car’s passenger seat at a sloth’s pace. “Seriously, though, I appreciate you looking out for me.”
“Happy to be of service.” As we pulled out of the parking lot, I gave him a pat on the shoulder. I was happy to help him out. To me, it’s one of the things being part of a family was all about.
A question kept knocking on the inside of my head, insisting I give it some thought. How in the world did that safe end up in the middle of the road? Then, a second question started knocking.
Why had someone abandoned a valuable piece of property out in the open on a gloomy winter night?
Chapter Two
Despite a restless night tossing and turning on Luke and Sloane’s couch, I made it a point to fix my brother a healthy breakfast. I’d been whacked on the head in the not-too-distant past and had spent the next day behind a pair of sunglasses struggling with the worst headache in memory. If I could ease any discomfort he was feeling, I was happy to make the effort.
“Wow.” With wide eyes, Luke took a seat at the dining room table. “Scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, fruit. To what do I owe the honor?”
He stopped buttering a slice of toast to rotate one shoulder, then the other. Then he twisted his torso from side to side a few times.
“Since you won’t admit it, your body language confirms my suspicions. You’re sore from last night. When you combine that with the fact you have to visit the police station, the least I could do is make sure you have a decent breakfast.”
He shoved half a piece of toast into his mouth and chewed. “It’s not like I can’t take of myself. I lived on my own for a long time, you know.”
“I do. I also know when you lived on your own, breakfast typically consisted of powdered donuts or honey buns.” I took a sip of my coffee. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”
“God, you are worse than Sloanie.” He massaged the area near his shoulder where the seat belt had held him back during the crash, then scooped up a forkful of eggs. “This is really good. Thanks.”
Luke spent the rest of breakfast communicating with his staff. Since the doctor had instructed him to take it easy at home today, he needed to make sure his Parks Department employees knew what the day’s game plan was. While it didn’t meet the letter of the physician’s instructions to take the day off from work, it did meet the spirit. I guess.
Given that I used my phone morning, day, and night pretty much every day, I couldn’t begrudge him the use of his. Didn’t want to give him the chance to call me a hypocrite.
That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
• • •
When we walked through the entrance to the Rushing Creek Police Department a little while later, Officer Jeanette Wilkerson, an excellent cop and a good friend, greeted us.
“Thanks for coming in, guys. Tommy briefed me on the situation. Hopefully, this won’t take too long.” She gave Luke a quick up-and-down scan. “How are you feeling?”
His cheeks turned pink. I loved my brother, but sometimes he could be such a stereotypical guy. Admitting weakness embarrassed him. It was kind of pathetic in a strangely endearing sort of way.
“I’m good.” He tapped the crown of his head with his knuckles. “The head’s clear. I shouldn’t have any trouble giving you my statement.”
While Luke went over the previous evening’s events with Jeanette, I found a spot in a quiet corner of the station where I could get some work done. My current situation highlighted one of the reasons I loved being a literary agent. I could work pretty much wherever, and whenever, I wanted.
Normally, I held an in-person meeting with my assistant, Calypso Bosley, every Monday morning. Even though Calypso lived in an apartment one floor above mine, we didn’t see a lot of each other throughout the week. I could only afford her on a part-time basis, so she had another part-time job too. It was at the Rushing Creek Public House, one of the restaurants my sister Rachel owned. Locals referred to it simply as the Pub. The Monday meetings were a great way to make sure we saw each other and to facilitate communication.
This morning, I was about to embark on a first for the Cobb Literary Agency. A staff meeting via video chat. Oh, how I loved life in the twenty-first century.
Since the agency employed all of two people, the concept sounded way more impressive than it actually was. Over the last year, I’d conducted more and more meetings with clients and editors over Skype, Zoom, and a handful of other platforms. This would be the first time one-on-one with Calypso, though.
I’d texted her earlier to schedule the call, so her image filled the screen on my phone mere seconds after I opened the meeting link.
“Hey, Boss. How goes it from the Slam?” She took a drink from one of her enormous forty-four-ounce coffee mugs, her face disappearing for a moment as she did so.
I thanked my lucky stars I was using earbuds. Calypso didn’t trust the police and often spoke about them in less than flattering terms. I disagreed with her on the subject but didn’t begrudge her opinion. All I could do was remind her that real people wore the badge. Folks who spent their lives trying to make our lives safer. The officers of Rushing Creek PD weren’t perfect by any means, but they had my back and I had theirs.
“Luke’s giving his statement now. He’s feeling better, so I don’t think there are any serious injuries. What’s on the docket for this week?”
She waved a piece of paper that contained an agenda in front of her. “We’ve got one release Wednesday and another Thursday. I’ll take care of the social media posts.”
“And I’ll send out notifications on the agency group page.”
Over the past few months, Calypso had taken responsibility for more of the agency’s Internet presence, from the website to social media management. She was good at it and it freed me up to do other things more fitting to my skill set, so it was a win-win. As the head of the agency, it was important to me to make the new release announcements. It reminded my authors that release day was a time to celebrate all the hard work they’d put in.
It was fun, too.
The next item on the agenda was author royalties. About halfway through the discussion, Luke and Jeanette joined me.
“Heard about the crash, dude,” Calypso said. “Glad you’re up and around. You must have a head harder than the boss lady’s.”
“That is a fact.” Luke exchanged a virtual fist bump with my assistant.
I stuck my finger in my mouth and made gagging sounds, while Jeanette shook her head at our silliness.
After assuring Calypso he was fine, Luke told me that Matt Roberson, Rushing Creek’s chief of police, needed my help with something.
I ended the call with a promise to catch up with Calypso later in the day. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I got to my feet.
“What’s wrong? I’m not in hot water for taking those pictures last night, am I?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Jeanette put her hands up in a placating fashion. “At least we don’t think so. Anyway, nobody’s reported a missing gun safe. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the thing’s beginning to smell. Whoever dumped it must have left food in it. Matt got a search warrant and gave me the go-ahead to open it and get rid of whatever’s making it smell so bad.”
“Food? In a gun safe?” I wrinkled up my nose. “Seriously?”
“You’d be amazed at the things people hide behind a locked door,” Jeanette said with a shudder.
“All righty, then. Let’s get this over with.”
Jeanette had recently taken a class on investigation practices and had been dying to put them to use. Now she had a perfect opportunity.
Luke and I followed her down a corridor to a door with a sign that read Evidence—Authorized Personnel Only.
She knocked twice then entered a four-digit code into a keypad on the wall. Her free hand blocked my view of the keypad. Too bad. One never knew when one might need access to the Rushing Creek Police Department’s evidence room.
When the door buzzed, Jeanette pushed it open and gestured for Luke and me to enter. As I passed her, she put her hand on my shoulder.
“The combination is changed every thirty days, so don’t get any funny ideas.” She winked. My friend knew me better than I’d given her credit for.
Officer Gabriel Sandoval was hovering over the safe. He gave us an informal salute. The brown-eyed and brown-skinned cop reminded me of a young Antonio Banderas. He had a natural low-key charm that, when combined with his good looks, made it easy for him to get information from the fairer sex. More importantly to me, he was smart and dedicated to the community. It made me feel good seeing him involved with this mess.
While we exchanged greetings, I took a few moments to get a good look at the safe. There were some scrapes and a few small dents. The crash didn’t appear to have taken much of a toll on it.
Standing upright, the safe was as tall as me. It was about three feet wide and the same depth. Except for decorative gold trim that outlined the door and a gray electronic keypad, the surface was completely black. It was an expensive-looking piece of equipment.
I wanted to get a close look, but the smell put an end to that idea.
The stench emanating from it was a nauseating combination of rotting vegetables and spoiled meat. It was like someone put a cartful of perishable groceries in the safe and forgot all about them. Or what someone would do when they were in a hurry to hide something.
“All ready for you, Jeanette.” Gabe adjusted a pair of nose plugs as he stepped away from the safe. “I’ve gone over every inch twice and can’t find fingerprints or anything else that would help determine ownership.”
He tossed some cotton nasal plugs to Luke and me. “Put these in and breathe through your mouths.”
“Thanks for making sure.” She turned toward us. “Here’s the deal. The serial number’s been removed. We hope the contents will help us locate the owner. Luke, is this the same object you ran into last night?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “I mean, visibility was lousy last night, but it looks familiar.”
“Allie?” Jeanette raised her eyebrows.
I compared the pictures on my phone with the safe now in front of me. “Yeah. I’d say they’re the same.”
“Good.” Jeanette opened a case containing electronic equipment. “I wanted to confirm your eyewitness accounts since this is such a weird situation.”
“Can we get a move on, please?” I covered my nose and mouth with my hands in a vain attempt to block out the noxious stench. The plugs helped, but they were fighting a losing battle with whatever was in the safe. “Before I throw up my breakfast?”
Jeanette cracked her knuckles and got down on a knee. She attached some wires to the keypad and asked us to be quiet. Watching her work was fascinating. It was nothing like it was portrayed on the screen, where the safecracker put their ear to listen for the tumblers to fall into place as they turned a dial back and forth.
Instead, she used a resistance meter in tandem with a battery to figure out the safe’s key code. The meter showed changes in current when she entered a correct digit in the keypad. When the meter indicated a correct digit, she started over.
For kicks, I monitored her progress with a stopwatch. Luke, Gabe, and I held our collective breaths as she worked. Before long, she made a fist pump.
“Got it.” She punched in four digits. When the safe let out a beep, she pushed the lever down and the door opened a crack.
Before I had a chance to check the time, a disgusting odor a hundred times more powerful than a trash truck in summer attacked us. Then, things went from bad to worse.
A body tumbled out of the safe.
“Holy cats!” I jumped back as my stomach turned a somersault.
A retching sound came from behind me. Evidently, Luke wasn’t reacting well to the horrific sight, either.
“Gabe, get Matt. And get someone to clean up after Luke. You two, don’t move.” Jeanette’s voice carried a commanding tone I’d not heard before. It worked, though, as the officer sprinted for the door.
Despite Jeanette’s order, I took a step toward the body. The victim was a white male, balding, and appeared to be in his sixties.
A medical syringe was sticking out of his neck.
Jeanette and I exchanged looks. No words needed to be said. Rushing Creek had another murder on its hands.
Chapter Three
Matt arrived on the scene and assumed control. First, he told Gabe to hurry up locating supplies to clean up Luke’s mess. Second, he pointed a finger at me.
“Allie, take Luke and go to interview room one. Wait for me there.” When I hesitated, he shouted at us to get moving.
Matt Roberson was many things, but he was not a yeller. I didn’t need to be told twice.
I settled Luke into a chair in the interview room and went to get him a glass of water. He was sweating. His pallor was the same green as the frogs I often saw at the edges of the Rushing Creek. My brother wasn’t prone to getting queasy. I chalked it up to his concussion symptoms mixed in with a healthy dose of shock.
Given the horrific sight of the dead body tumbling out of the safe onto the tile floor, his reaction could have been a lot worse. At least he didn’t pass out and bang his noggin again.
By the time I returned, the sweating had stopped but he still looked awful. I gave him the water and some napkins, then fixed him with my gaze.
“What?” He took a sip. “Is there something in my teeth?”
“No. I’m trying to decide if you look more like death warmed over or like something the cat dragged in.”
To his credit, Luke took my joke with grace. He smiled, but in a second it morphed into a scowl.
“Did we really see what I think we just saw?” He took a larger drink, this time swishing it around before he swallowed.
“Afraid so.” I wiped a bead of cold sweat from my brow. Even though I’d gotten involved with several murder investigations in recent years, the sight of a dead body still upset me.
It wasn’t simply a dead body. It was someone, a person, who’d had their life cut short. The thought made me want to cry. And made me angry. In my book, murder was never the answer. I said a silent prayer that I never got callous to the senseless loss of life.
“Any idea who it is?” Luke let out a long, ragged breath.
“Yeah. Newt Arbogast.”
“Yowza.” He shook his head. “Just last week, I asked him if he’d be interested in putting on a gun safety class for the Parks Department. And now . . . Wow.”
The deceased was one of the big wheels in Rushing Creek circles. As the owner of Rushing Creek Leatherworks and Taxidermy, he was proud to boast that his business had been serving customers from the same location for four decades. With that longevity, he held a lot of sway with the local chamber of commerce.
That wasn’t the only leadership position the man held. Or had held, at this point. He was also the president of The Knobstone Rifle and Pistol Club. To nobody’s surprise, he was a vocal defender of Second Amendment rights. It was a position that had made him a lot of friends over the years.
And a few enemies.
“I think wow is the perfect word, bro.”
With cup in hand, Luke got to his feet. “I’m going to clean myself up. See ya in a few.”
Once I was alone, I closed my eyes and took deep cleansing breaths. I might freak out later, but I wanted to keep my head calm and clear in case Matt had questions for me. I had a hard time imagining why, though. My brother and I had simply been victims of rotten timing. It could have just as easily been someone else who ran into the safe and had to visit the station this morning.
No such luck for us.
A knock at the door brought me out of my meditative state. It was Matt.
“You okay?” He left the door ajar behind him.
“Better than Luke, obviously. So much for being an innocent bystander.”
“You do have a knack for getting mixed up in these situations.” He took a seat across the table from me. “When the judge asked me this morning why I needed the safe opened, I told him about the smell, our inability to find an owner, and my concern that it might contain contraband. I mean, nobody in their right mind would leave an expensive gun safe like that in the middle of the road.”
“You weren’t wrong. I guess it’s good the judge went along with it.”
“But I never, not in a million years, thought we’d find a body in there.” He rubbed his eyes. “What a messed-up world we live in.”
Luke reentered the room. His skin tone had returned to a semblance of normal. His gait was unsteady, though. The last twelve hours or so had taken a toll on him.
“Since you’re both here, I have a few questions.” Matt took a notebook from his breast pocket.
“Seriously, man? I already gave you my statement. The only reason I was in that room—we were in that room—was because Jeanette asked us. How in the world could we have anything relevant to tell you?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, Luke. But I’ve never come across a dead body stored inside a piece of equipment in my evidence room. So, the quicker you cooperate, the quicker you both are out of here. And for what it’s worth, this isn’t on you. Once you ID’d the safe, Jeanette was supposed to escort you out of there. So . . .”
When Luke let out a huff, I put my hand on his arm. Matt was right.
“Ask us anything, Chief.”
Twenty minutes later, we were on our way. We had answered Matt’s questions to the best of our abilities. In all honesty, there hadn’t been much to tell. When he finished, Matt thanked us for our cooperation while reminding Luke to contact the station if he remembered anything new from the night before.
When we got back to Luke’s house, I had him lay on the couch with an ice pack on his forehead. He insisted he was fine and didn’t need me hovering over him like our mom. I ignored his entreaties to go home.
It wasn’t the head injury that made me want to stay. It was the sum total of the recent events. Something told me to stick around for a few hours in case he got sick again or got hit with an anxiety attack. It was midmorning. If he was okay when the clock struck noon, I’d get going.
While he rested, I responded to work emails.
And thought about poor Newt Arbogast.
Since I wasn’t into taxidermy or guns, our paths hadn’t crossed often. When they did, he’d always been nice enough. The previous August, when I’d asked him for a donation to support the town’s 9/11 Memorial Observance, he’d said yes without a moment’s hesitation. Then, in December, I’d visited his shop to ask him to make a custom leather pouch that my boyfriend Brent could store his RPG gaming dice in. Newt had come up with a stunning design that left Brent speechless.
He’d been a decent guy. Quite the charmer. And yet somebody had wanted him dead. How had the world gotten so cold?
When Luke woke up a little after noon, I fixed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and admonished him to take it easy for the rest of the day. Only when he promised to behave did I take my leave.
Ursi made every effort to give me the cold shoulder when I got home. Anticipating her frosty welcome, I went straight to the kitty treats and gave her a handful.
“Sorry I’m home so late. Uncle Luke and I ran into some unexpected developments. Please forgive me.”
She gobbled up my peace offering in seconds, then weaved herself through my legs. While her fur barely contacted my jeans, it was enough to let me know I was forgiven. Of course, the frosty temperature outdoors had made things a touch chilly in the apartment, so she was probably looking for a way to absorb my body heat, too.
Such was life with my cat. I lived to serve while she lived to accept my service.
I plopped down on the couch and a wave of exhaustion flattened me like a steamroller on new pavement. Since Luke’s call, I’d been running on adrenaline. The supply had run out.
Normally, I wasn’t a big nap person. Today, an exception was in order. I kicked off my shoes and lay down. When Ursi snuggled up against my tummy, I put an arm around her. In seconds, I was asleep.
What seemed like mere seconds later, I was yanked from a dreamless slumber by the insistent beeping of my phone. I came to my senses too late to take the call. While I waited for the voicemail message, I rubbed my eyes. It was almost four. Holy cats, I’d slept the entire afternoon away.
“Looks like I’ll be working late tonight, girl.” I scratched my cat behind the ears as I got to my feet. Evidently, she didn’t share my drive to get work done because she curled up in the space I’d vacated and went right back to sleep.
The call that woke me up was actually the fourth. I’d slept through messages Mom, Sloane, and Rachel had left asking me about Luke’s condition. I returned each of those calls with assurances Luke was fine and that he was going back to work tomorrow.
Credit for the literal wake-up call went to Ursi’s vet, Dr. Cammy Flanagan. It was an automated call reminding us that my kitty had an appointment tomorrow morning for the doctor to look at some teeth that had been bothering her.
“Props to you, girl, for being the reason I woke up. That’ll mean some fancy soft food for dinner tonight.”
At the word dinner, Ursi raised her head. When I didn’t move toward the kitchen, she yawned and put her head right back down. The leisurely life of a house cat, indeed.
I spent the rest of the afternoon emailing editors to check the status of manuscripts that were out on query. Normally, it was a task I did right after my meeting with Calypso. While I enjoyed the freedom to work anywhere, I did have a certain routine I tried to keep. I’d learned early in my career that if I let things slide, even for a few days, my life turned into a state of unending chaos that took forever to wrangle back to normal.
Even with the frightening events of the previous twenty-four hours, I was bound and determined to keep things on track. At least the things that were under my control. Things outside of my control? Well, I’d roll with them.
I didn’t expect to have to start rolling the next morning.
Chapter Four
Ursi didn’t like going to the vet. Normally, whenever she and I left the apartment, she was only confined by the small straps of her harness. When we went to see Dr. Flanagan, I had to use a cat carrier.
That made her unhappy. And she didn’t hesitate to let me know that with repeated yowls of despair.
The vet’s office was on the eastern edge of town, about two miles from the apartment. Totally within walking distance on the leash if my kitty didn’t have to receive treatment. And didn’t have to contend with outdoor temperatures in the low thirties. And didn’t have to be around animals she wasn’t familiar with, along with their scents, once we arrived.
Putting her in a standard soft-shell cat carrier and securing it to my bike rack was a no-go. It wasn’t that she got antsy while in the carrier and threw my bike off-balance. It was that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I crashed while she was on the back and she got hurt.
So, instead of borrowing a car for trips like this, I had purchased a backpack-style cat carrier. Basically, it was a plastic shell attached to straps like a college bookbag. The shell had air holes for ventilation and a porthole-like window so she could watch the world go by while in transit.
When it was cold like it was today, I used a throw blanket as a liner to keep my fur baby warm. The exercise was good for me and Ursi tolerated the arrangement. Then again, the treats I gave her as soon as we entered the vet’s office probably went a long way in ending any complaints she’d been voicing.
“Hi, ladies.” The receptionist, a young woman with short dark hair and green-rimmed glasses, was seated behind a square window with sliding planes of glass. She grinned as she waved to us.
“Hey, Lana. Ursi’s here to get her teeth cleaned.” As I approached the counter, I slipped the backpack from my shoulders. Ursi let out an annoyed meow to let me know I set her down harder than she thought was appropriate.
We breezed through the check-in process, then Ursi and I took a seat next to a bearded, overweight man and his German shepherd pup. The little canine found my kitty’s living quarters fascinating. His tail wagged at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings as he sniffed at it. He let out a little yip and tried to jump in my lap when Ursi responded with a meow.
“Don’t mind Bruno. Every person and animal he comes across is a friend he hasn’t met yet.” The man wrangled the ball of excited fur into his arms.
“Not a problem.” I dropped a treat into Ursi’s carrier as I offered my free hand to the dog to sniff. “He’s a cutie.”
We chatted until Ursi’s name was called. After saying goodbye to Bruno and his owner, we followed Lana as she rolled in her wheelchair down a hall of exam rooms to the last one on the left. While I checked my phone for messages, Lana conducted an initial exam. For some reason, my cat willingly did things for her that she wouldn’t consider doing for me.
“Nine pounds, one ounce.” Lana patted the loose skin under Ursi’s belly. “You’ve put on a couple of ounces over the winter, girl. Let’s make sure that jungle pouch of yours doesn’t get too big.”
She noted the weight in a tablet, then did a quick visual of Ursi’s teeth. “Yep, there’s some tartar buildup. I’ll have Dr. Cammy give your teeth a good cleaning. We want to keep those teeth of yours as long as possible, don’t we?”
“Amen to that,” I said.
When Lana was finished with the exam, she told us the doctor would be in soon and made her exit. I marveled at how the woman handled her wheelchair so effortlessly, as if it was an extension of her body. Skill and grace operating as one.
I was scratching Ursi behind an ear when the doctor came in. A tall woman at nearly six feet, she towered over me. Dressed in navy blue surgical scrubs with a stethoscope peeking out from one pocket and a tablet in her hand, she looked like she’d fit right in with the medical staff I’d seen at the hospital the other night. A tipoff that her career was dedicated to animals was her shoes. They were light blue canvas sneakers with cats all over them.
Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her lean, athletic build called to mind a couple of friends in college who were volleyball players. The woman had it all—brains, a career, athletic ability, and a heart big enough to encompass all of Rushing Creek.
After a quick greeting to me, she turned her attention to Ursi, who was sitting on the exam table like she was ready for a modeling photo shoot.
“How is my little Ursula?” She let Ursi sniff her hand, then ran it along the cat’s spine. My fur baby closed her eyes and started purring. Cammy laughed at how loud Ursi was. “She’s just like a little lawnmower, isn’t she?”
“Around people she likes, she is.”
The good doctor was a gentle soul who loved animals of all sizes. She’d come to Rushing Creek straight out of veterinary school. After working for a decade as an associate, she took over the Brown County Animal Clinic when her boss, old Doc Robertson, retired a few months after I returned from New York.
“We’ll see how she feels after her teeth are clean.” A technician whose name tag read Iris came in with the relevant materials. After a quick conversation with her, Cammy gestured for me to accompany her into the hall.
“Please have a seat in the lobby. Iris will let you know as soon as we’re fin—”
Cammy’s words died on her lips when we reached the reception area. Matt Roberson and Gabe Sandoval were at the window. They weren’t smiling.
“Dr. Cameron Flanagan?” Matt had a folded piece of paper in his hand. “We’re here about the murder of Newton Arbogast. We’d like to ask you some questions. Is there someplace private we can talk?”
With an air of defensiveness about her, Cammy tugged at the collar of her scrub top. “I’m rather busy, Chief. I have patients that need to be seen.”
“Please, ma’am.” Matt looked at me. “Allie, this doesn’t concern you. You’re free to go about your business.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice. That and the way Gabe was standing at attention had me convinced that this was more than just a routine round of questioning for a case.
“My cat is being treated as we speak, so this does concern me.” I straightened my spine and stepped alongside Cammy.
“Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.” He glanced over his shoulder at the handful of animals waiting with their humans in the reception area and shrugged. “Are any of your medical supplies missing?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Lana conducts an inventory every Friday and I do a quick visual spot check every morning.”
“Would you mind showing us where you store the supplies?” Matt handed her the piece of paper.
As Cammy read it, the color drained from her face. She grabbed on to my shoulder to steady herself.
I snatched the page from her. It was a search warrant.
“Seriously, Matt?”
“The chief said this doesn’t concern you, Ms. Cobb.” Gabe opened the door to the waiting room. He followed Matt as they joined us in the hallway.
“No, it’s fine. I have nothing to hide.” Cammy’s voice was weak, but she made every attempt to stand up straight. “Follow me, please.”
Gabe was right. This matter didn’t concern me. But Cammy was a friend and sometimes I couldn’t help myself. I followed the group to the last door on the right. There was a placard on the door that read Authorized Personnel Only.
Cammy unlocked the door and waved us in. The room was lined on either side with wheeled wire shelves. Supplies of all types, from medical tape to gauze to supplements and other pills, filled the shelves. A locked metal cabinet was bolted to the opposite wall.
Matt pointed at the cabinet. “What do you keep in there?”
“The medications that are, for lack of a better term, more dangerous when not properly used.”
“May we take a closer look?”
“What for? What’s this all about, gentlemen?” Despite her protest, she unlocked the cabinet.
“Do you keep xylazine on hand?” Matt directed Gabe to go through the cabinet.
“What’s that?” Sometimes my curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“It’s an emetic.” She took a vial from the cabinet and showed it to us. “I use it to treat cats when they’ve ingested a toxin. It makes them vomit when they eat something they shouldn’t. Like when Ursula got into your mistletoe last December.”
“Is all of your xylazine accounted for, Doctor?” Matt took the vial from her.
“I’m sure it is. I mean, you’ve seen for yourself that its secured.” She crossed her arms. “Look, I have patients I need to attend to. Can we wrap this up?”
My blood ran cold when Matt shook his head. I recalled a manuscript I’d read a while back. The xylazine, if administered in a large enough quantity, was fatal in humans.
“How much do you have in stock right now, Doctor?” Matt gave the vial in his hand a little shake. “Including this one.”
Cammy typed on her tablet, then displayed the screen so we all could see it.
“See that?” She pointed to a line at the top of a spreadsheet. “We had five two-hundred-milligram vials when Lana did the inventory on Friday. I know for a fact we haven’t dispensed any since then, so we have five on hand.”
“Would you mind showing me the other four vials? You know, to make sure your records are correct.”
“This is ridiculous.” Cammy shook her head as she handed the tablet to me. She reached into the cabinet and a moment later placed three vials in Matt’s hands. “The other one’s here. One of the techs must have moved it when they got something else.”
She rummaged around the top shelf of the cabinet, then the two middle shelves, muttering to herself more loudly as each shelf failed to turn up the vial she sought. When she finished searching the bottom shelf, she let out a sigh of relief.
“Here it is.”
Matt plucked it from her fingers. He studied it up close for a few seconds.
“It’s empty.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Cammy opened her mouth, then closed it again before she was finally able to find her voice.
“I don’t understand. They were all completely full the other day.”
Matt made a quick glance at Gabe before his gaze returned to Cammy. He cleared his throat. “Doctor, earlier you told us that you conduct an informal inventory every morning. Do you recall seeing five vials of xylazine this morning?”
“I thought I did, but now I can’t be sure. We had an emergency first thing.” She admitted uncertainty when Matt asked her if she’d seen the same number of vials on the other days the clinic had been open since the formal inventory had been conducted.
My stomach began to churn. It was clear where Matt was going with his line of questioning. In a direction that didn’t look good for Cammy.
“Who has access to the keys you used to open the door and the cabinet,” Matt asked.
“I do, obviously.” She held out a group of keys on a ring for all to see. “Another set is kept in a drawer by the registration desk. Staff are supposed to sign them in and out when they use them. We have a written procedure for it.”
“Do you know for certain that they’re following the procedure? That every time someone uses those keys, they sign them out and then sign them back in as soon as they are finished?”
She shrugged. “I assume so. I mean, we’ve never had a problem like this before.”
“I didn’t notice any video cameras when we came in.” Matt pointed toward the entrance. “Do you use hidden cameras or motion sensors for after-hours use?”
“No.” Her head dropped until her chin touched her chest, a defeated woman. “Nothing like that.”
Matt scratched his chin, apparently trying to determine what to say next. Given what I’d seen yesterday, I had a bad feeling about what his next words would be about.
“Dr. Flanagan, yesterday the body of Newt Arbogast was found with a medical syringe sticking out of his neck. Preliminary autopsy reports indicate he was poisoned with an overdose of xylazine, which was administered via the syringe. Can you explain how a man was murdered by a dose of the same medication that’s missing from your clinic?”
“No, but there has to be a perfectly logical reason. Let me get Lana. I’m sure she can clear this up in no time.”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am.” Gabe put his arm out to stop Cammy from leaving the room. “We talked to her before we asked to speak with you. She said she wasn’t aware of any xylazine being used since last Friday.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to come with us to the station to answer some more questions,” Matt said.
Cammy’s hand covered her heart. “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with that man’s death?”
“There are reports that you and Mr. Arbogast have exchanged words, harsh words over his, shall we say, business practices. We can discuss this more downtown.”
“But I have a practice to run. My patients need me. I can’t just leave them, unless . . . are you arresting me?”
“Not unless you leave me no other choice.” Matt rested his hand on his belt, right on top of the handcuffs.
“Go with them, Cammy.” I put my arm around her. “Lana and I will take care of everything. If anybody asks, we’ll just say the police need your expertise for something.”
Her shoulders sagged. The poor woman. The situation had my mind spinning in a hundred different directions. I couldn’t imagine the confusion going on inside Cammy’s head.
“Do you mind if we go out the back way?” She ran a hand through her reddish-brown hair. “I’d rather not raise a ruckus being paraded out the front entrance.”
“I can live with that.” Matt gestured for Gabe to take the lead.
As they headed out through the rear doorway, Matt gave me a challenging stare. When I refused to look away, he leaned close to me.
“Allie, you need to stop it right now. Do yourself a favor and stay out of this.” He turned and walked through the doorway without another glance at me.
I waited for the door to close before I responded.
“Don’t count on it, Chief. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I intend to prove it.”
Chapter Five
I spent the next hour helping Lana and two other employees, a tech named Cheryl and the office assistant, Randy, deal with Cammy’s sudden departure as unobtrusively as possible. Since Ursi needed time to recover from her cleaning, rather than just sit and wait, I staffed the phone to reschedule appointments. When anyone asked what the problem was, I simply responded that Dr. Flanagan had been called away on an urgent matter.
By the time my kitty was given the green light to go home, the acute crisis had passed. While we hadn’t heard from Cammy, at least nobody had taken their pet and fled in a panic that their veterinarian was a murderer.
My counselor, Nessie Bogan, would have been proud of me finding the silver lining in such a dire predicament.
When I asked Lana how much the bill was, she pushed my credit card back at me.
“It’s on us. It’s the least we can do to thank you for all your help. You’ll get her out of this, right?”
“I’ll do whatever I can.” I put the card away, hoping to radiate an air of quiet confidence.
I’d settle up with Cammy after this mess was resolved. It warmed my heart that Lana was confident that I’d come to her boss’s aid. I suppose that’s what happened when one had solved four murders.
When we got home, I put Ursi on a heated pad next to the couch. She was still a little dopey from the medication, so it would be a snuggly spot where she could snooze until she felt better.
She started snoring almost immediately. The fact that my prim and proper feline sawed logs when she was in a deep sleep tickled me to no end. It was also a much-appreciated bright spot in a trying day.
I took advantage of the tranquil moment and grabbed a yellow spiral-bound notebook from a shelf in my office. For Christmas, Sloane had given me a half dozen of them, each one a different color. “They’re for the Kickboxing Crusader’s next cases,” she’d said. “You can code them by color.”
My friend knew all I really wanted to do was help people reach their dream of becoming published authors. We both knew sometimes one couldn’t fight destiny. It had become apparent I was destined to respond when a murder was committed in my town.
Cammy hadn’t asked for my help. Yet. My sixth sense told me it was only a matter of time until she did. That meant there was no point in waiting.
At this point, there wasn’t a lot for me to get on paper. I knew the victim, how he died, and the police’s main suspect. I was also faced with a massive window of time when the murder was committed.
Then there was the safe.
The use of an expensive gun safe to dispose of a body in the middle of the road was perplexing. At the very least, it was a waste of a big chunk of change. Thanks to all the mystery and thriller books I’d read and edited over the years, I could come up with dozens of ways to dispose of a corpse. And none of them ended with someone literally running into an object a dead body was concealed in.
No, the safe had to be a ruse. Like a magician’s sleight of hand, a classic case of misdirection. Somebody killed Newt and set it up for Cammy to take the fall. The safe’s purpose was to muddy the waters. At least, that was what my gut was telling me.
After all, who drops a gun safe in the middle of the road and fails to go back for it? Someone who wanted the safe to be found.
The killer must have known that eventually the stench would lead to the safe being opened and the body being found. As overwhelming as the reek was, the body had to have been there for a while. Like, a couple of days instead of a couple of hours.
A massive window of time, indeed.
While I was pondering the situation, Ursi got my attention by yawning so wide her black and orange face practically disappeared. Then she stretched her arms and legs out so far, she looked like she was doing a cat impersonation of Supergirl flying over National City.
“Easy there, girl. Those chompers of yours are so bright they’re going to blind me.” I gave her a scratch under her chin while I took a closer look at her teeth. While they were tiny, except for the impressively lethal-appearing fangs, they were spotless.
I’d been a little concerned that all the hubbub with the police might have resulted in less than stellar work. It was a concern I shouldn’t have had. Cammy and her team were consummate pros. I went on Yelp and left a glowing five-star review.
That would teach bad guys to mess with a friend of mine.
That evening, I was practically jolted off the couch by thunderous knocking on my door so loud it sounded like cannon fire.
Calypso brushed past me the second I opened the door and went straight to the kitchen. She started brewing a pot of coffee.
“Kind of late in the day for a caffeine fix, isn’t it?” I loved my coffee as much as the next person but drank it after three in the afternoon about as often as Harper Lee published a book. Otherwise, I’d be up half the night.
“I just finished my shift at the Pub. You will not believe what people have been saying.”
“That you are the greatest server ever employed at the Rushing Creek Public House?”
“No.” She stopped in the middle of filling the coffeepot with water. “But if they were saying that, I wouldn’t argue with them.”
I loved Calypso. My assistant had recently turned twenty and was still filled with sass and energy and had her whole life ahead of her. Her goth look of short black hair, lots of black eyeliner, and a wardrobe consisting almost entirely of the color black was an effective tool to keep people at a distance. Underneath that exterior, I’d come to know a young woman who was passionate, smart, and well-informed.
She also had a dry wit that I enjoyed.
“Okay, I give up. What are they saying that has you emulating Maybelle Schuman?”
Maybelle was Rushing Creek’s chief gossip. If a rumor was circulating, Maybelle had either started it or was busy propelling it along like she pushed her grocery cart up and down the street.
After adding a dash of milk to her coffee, she plopped down into the chair by the sofa and put her feet on the coffee table. Normally, Calypso was as blunt as a dull pencil. Now, she seemed to be holding back, as if she was trying to figure out how to break something to me gently.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, all right?” She took a drink. “Everyone’s saying your vet friend killed that Arbogast dude. Supposedly, there’s been bad blood between them from the minute she came to town.”
This wasn’t news to me, but I appreciated Calypso’s concern for Cammy. Besides, she might have picked up something that would come in handy.
“I’ve heard she didn’t care for his taxidermy business. Is there more to it than that?”
“Oh, yeah. Good old Newt was the president of the gun club. Between that and his business, Cammy tangled with him over animal rights issues a lot. Supposedly, a few times it got heated. Like, she got all up in his face.”
“Interesting.” I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and some snacks while I pondered Calypso’s report. “How heated?”
“Well, nothing as obvious as ‘I’m going to murder you and stuff your corpse in a safe where it will rot away until the end of time.’”
I almost spit out my water. “Thanks for that lovely image.”
“We’re the Cobb Literary Agency. I figured you’d appreciate my effort at painting a picture with my words.”
She took another drink while I twirled my index finger to prompt her to resume. I’d witnessed the real thing. There was no need for someone to describe the horrific scene from the police station evidence room again.
Ever.
“I guess she was big on telling him things like ‘We’re all God’s creatures’ and ‘Someday you’ll get what you deserve,’ stuff like that.”
“Seems pretty innocuous to me.” I meant it. Goodness knows, I wasn’t immune to hyperbole and had said things over the years I wish I could take back. Still.
“That’s not all. There was a dustup at the Holiday Bazaar last December. Somebody poured red paint all over the animals Arbogast had on display. No surprise, he marched right over to the animal shelter’s booth where she was working and accused her of doing it. When he said he was going to call the cops, she laughed in his face and said she’d never stoop to something so juvenile.”
“Did they ever find out who the vandal was?”
“No. Wait a minute.” Calypso put her cup down. “She didn’t use the word juvenile. She used the word amateurish.”
“Oof.” If anyone in town appreciated the use of one specific word over another more than me, I’d yet to meet them. In my book, juvenile was synonymous with sophomoric. Something silly that a young person would do. Amateurish meant lacking in professionalism.
There was a big difference between the words. Calypso knew that as well as I did.
I barely knew the victim. I did know Cammy. She’d always come across as a kind and gentle soul. In the two years I’d been taking Ursi to her, the woman had shown a true passion for animal welfare.
That passion had never gone to the point of violence, though. Cammy was smart and opinionated. She enjoyed a good debate. Referring to vandalism as an act of amateurs instead of denouncing it outright sent a shiver down my spine.
“Who told you about the bazaar confrontation?” I’d investigate it myself later, but knowing the source would help me evaluate its trustworthiness.
“Jack, the guy from your 9/11 Memorial committee.”
“Double oof.” I thought the world of Jack Rogers. After serving in the military, he traded his fatigues for a dress shirt and tie and now taught history at Rushing Creek High School. If he said the encounter had occurred, there was no doubt in my mind that it had.
Calypso took a long look at my notebook. “Since you’re already on the case, you might want to get all that down on paper.”
I grumbled as I got under the couch to retrieve my pen. Evidently, Ursi had taken our conversation as an opportunity to knock it to the floor and play with it. It was reassuring she was feeling better. It made up for the fact that Calypso’s news made me feel worse.
“What’s your take?” Not so long ago, she’d helped me bring a murderer to justice. She’d neither undersell nor oversell the value of her information.
“It’s clear they didn’t see eye to eye on some things. And those things were important to both of them.” She took a big slurp from her coffee cup. “So, it wasn’t like they were going to change each other’s minds.”
“Agreed, but where’s motive?”
“A business she doesn’t approve of gets shut down while the gun club loses a member. Maybe she’s secretly an eco-terrorist. I mean, how well do you really know her, Boss?”
I looked at Ursi. My kitty locked gazes with me. Her unblinking golden eyes seemed to be conveying a message. That was all the convincing I needed.
My phone’s ringtone sounded. It was Cammy. While we exchanged greetings, I turned on the speaker so Calypso could take part in the conversation.
“I wanted to thank you for everything you did today. Your help means more than I can put into words.”
“Don’t mention it. Ursi wouldn’t have forgiven me if I hadn’t tried to help. I hope since you’re calling, that means you’re in the clear.”
“I’m not out of the woods yet. Before the cops let me go, they took my fingerprints and told me to be available.”
Calypso, never one to beat around the bush, asked Cammy if the rumors she’d heard were true.
“As much as I’d like to deny them, I can’t. I didn’t like the man. I’ll admit I found what he did for a living to be deplorable. I didn’t kill him, though.”
“We know you didn’t.” Calypso nodded when I looked at her for confirmation. “I’m going to figure out who really did this. You can take that to the bank.”
Chapter Six
I lived for author publication days. They were occasions to celebrate, opportunities to enjoy the fruits of my clients’ labor. They energized and helped sustain me through the challenging days when it seemed like every query I sent was turned down.
Given the events of the past few days, sharing the good news about not one but two clients’ new books was as therapeutic as a hot bubble bath with a cup of warm, herbal tea. Sure, I worked hard for my clients. When they succeeded, I was thrilled. Having said that, I believed with all my heart and soul that I got more from them than they could ever get from me.
With Ursi by my side, the first thing I did, after getting some java, of course, was to post congratulatory messages to the authors on the agency’s private social media page. It was my practice to include buy links in the posts. I didn’t expect my clients to buy each other’s books, but if they wanted to, the least I could do was make it easy. The posts also made it convenient for authors to share info about other authors’ new releases.
With the fun stuff complete, I dove into my emails. Despite my best intentions, the circumstances of the past two days had left me neglecting my in-box.
“You want to take over for me, girl?” I stroked Ursi’s orange and black coat. “I’ll throw in a few extra treats with dinner tonight.”
She gave me a meh, then nipped at my finger and leapt from the couch. Without giving me as much as a parting glance, she strolled out of the room. No doubt to find a place for a quiet nap.
“Your lack of teamwork will be noted on your next performance appraisal.” To my utter lack of surprise, the threat was ignored. The two of us knew who the real boss of the apartment was.
When the Hello Kitty clock on the wall struck noon, I closed my laptop. I’d made enough progress that I could afford a celebratory release-day lunch. That meant a trip to the best burger joint ever, Big Al’s Diner.
“Later, girl.” I grabbed my bike helmet as I walked out the door. While it was cold, the usual gray skies of February had cleared. With a recently fallen snow cleared from the roads, the conditions were tolerable for a bike ride.
A short ride later, I eased onto a stool at the diner’s counter. Normally, I preferred to sit in a booth at the back of the diner. Today, in addition to enjoying a juicy burger and delicious order of fries, I wanted to tap into my friend Al Hammond’s immense knowledge of all things Rushing Creek.
I was perusing the menu to see if there was anything new to tempt my taste buds when a familiar voice caught my attention.
“May I take your order, young lady?”
The people in a booth on the other side of the diner probably heard my chin hit the counter when I looked up. The smiling man before me looked like Al. He had the same grizzly bear physique and mess of dark curly hair pulled back in a hair net. The wide grin was the same, too. The image was all wrong, though.
“Holy cats. What happened to your beard?” I picked up my phone. I’d never seen Al Hammond clean-shaven. “I need to get a shot of this.”
He laughed, then struck a pose that called to mind the pirate on the Captain Morgan’s rum label.
“Willie and I had a friendly wager on the big game this past Sunday. Alas, my team lost, so the beard had to go. What do you think? Be honest.”
I gave his face a long look. Once I got over the shock from such a dramatic change, I found I liked it.
“While I think the bushy beard is a good look on you, this is good, too. You look a lot younger. What’s your wife think?”
He wagged his finger at me. “And that, my friend, is the million-dollar question. She says she likes being able to pinch my pudgy cheeks. The cold weather’s hard on my skin, though. Reminds me why I grew the beard in the first place.”
“You’re going to grow it back, I take it?”
“Yep, but I have to wait until March. Until then, you all get to see my handsome mug.”
I laughed. “What was Willie going to have to do if you won?”
“He was going to have to let his hair grow out.”
“Wow. I’d pay top dollar to see that.” Al’s brother was vastly different from the man in front of me, both in personality and in appearance. He sported a shaved head to go with his clean-shaven face.
“I’ll tell him that.”
We shared another laugh and then Al took my order, a patty melt with waffle fries and an iced tea. My dear family-physician mother had recently begun commenting on my less-than-healthy diet. I appreciated her concern, but my cholesterol levels were well within the acceptable range. For now, I got to revel in the advantages of youth.
While Al prepared my order, I studied my case notebook. Even with all of yesterday’s information included, I was woefully short of actionable intelligence. Going with the assumption that Cammy didn’t murder Newt, I was left with a huge question.
Who wanted the man dead?
To figure that out, I needed to learn about him. What was he like? Who were his friends? Did he have enemies, other than Cammy, of course? If so, who were they? And why were they his enemies?
That’s where Al came in. As the beloved owner of a popular restaurant and a member of the local chamber of commerce, he knew gobs of people. That was going to be a huge help since the deceased was in his sixties. That was a demographic whose members I didn’t know nearly as well as my own.
“I see you’re on the case, then?” Al placed my order on the counter.
The bread was toasted to a perfect medium brown shade. The aroma of grilled onions mingled with the seared beef to make my mouth water.
“Exquisite.” I popped a curly fry into my mouth. The seasoning gave the side dish the ideal savory touch. “My compliments to the chef. And, yes, I’m back to being nosy, overstepping boundaries, and poking into other people’s business.”
Al let out a deep belly laugh that reverberated throughout the diner. It was full of mirth and joy and made me happy simply being in his presence.
“I don’t know the good doctor well, but if you think she’s innocent, that’s good enough for me.”
“You’re too kind. I was hoping you could help me out while I dine on your fabulous fare. What can you tell me about Newt Arbogast?”
“He was a decent fella. Had a soft spot for a strawberry milkshake. Liked his chicken sandwich with a double order of pickles. Tipped well, too.”
I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of the tea. “Based on those kind comments, I’ll take you off my suspect list. Seriously, I need something to go on. Anything might help, even something that doesn’t seem important.”
“If you’re looking for rumors, you should talk to Maybelle.” He put his hand up to stop my objection. “I do know one thing that might help. Newt’s shop is next to the Falling Leaves Inn. Victor Allen, the inn’s owner, he’s been trying for years to convince Newt to sell the property to him so he can expand the inn. Newt didn’t like Vic because Vic kept bugging him about selling. Vic didn’t like Newt because Newt wouldn’t sell.”
“Any idea how much the lot’s worth?”
“It’s small, but in a good location. I’d guess it would fetch over a hundred grand.”
“Fascinating.” It was, too. Anytime money was involved in a dispute, it seemed there was potential for foul play. Especially when the amount ran into six figures.
I chewed on my sandwich while I scribbled down the information. Al’s time was valuable. He could be called back to the grill at any point.
“What I just told you is fact. You can ask anyone. They’ll tell you the same.” He leaned closer to me. “This next part is rumor, so don’t go spreading it. I’ve heard whispers that Shelly, Newt’s wife, wanted to sell and wasn’t happy he wouldn’t.”
“The plot thickens.” I drew circles around Victor’s and Shelly’s names. They’d go on my list of suspects. “Any idea why she wanted to sell when he didn’t?”
Al looked around the diner, probably hoping to find an excuse to extricate himself from my clutches. Things were slow, so he was out of luck.
“This is only a guess, so take it for what it’s worth, nothing more. Newt and Shelly are closing in on retirement age. There’s no guarantee he’ll be able to sell the business when he’s ready to hang it up. I imagine Shelly thought Newt was turning his back on setting themselves up with a tidy nest egg for their retirement.”
“Makes sense.” The Falling Leaves Inn was located on the Boulevard, smack dab in the middle of the business district. It was a grand three-story structure that was included in every Rushing Creek promotional piece I’d ever seen.
Newt’s shop was a nondescript single-story brick building that occupied a corner lot south of the inn. With that property in hand, the inn could expand its dining facilities or add guest rooms and other amenities. No wonder Victor wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Newt had been in his way.
More space meant more guests coming through the doorway. More guests meant more cash going into the inn’s bank account. That meant more money in Victor’s pocket.
I knew the man in passing. If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his early fifties. That left him more than enough years to recoup his investment on expanding the inn and make some decent coin before he retired or sold the place.
It didn’t take a conspiracy theorist to imagine Vic losing patience with Newt and taking things into his own hands. As good old Inspector Brackenreid from Murdoch Mysteries often advised, follow the money.
I made a note to check public records for anything on the Falling Leaves Inn. If Victor was experiencing cash flow problems, there might be lawsuits filed against him. If he thought financial difficulties could be relieved by expansion, killing Newt to get his hands on the property sure made for a strong motive.
A current of energy flowed through me as I wrote. Looking into Victor meant I had a decent path to go down. It was a promising start.
Al returned to the grill to work on an order. I’d gotten all the information he was willing to give up. Which was totally fine because he’d given me not one but two leads to follow.
Sure, getting his hands on a desired piece of property gave Victor motive for the murder. But that benefit would be down the road. Who would benefit immediately?
Shelly Arbogast.
She’d receive any life insurance proceeds. More to the point, though, she was now free to sell the property to Vic. In one fell swoop, she had her nest egg.
I’d have to research the property records relating to Newt’s store. At the very least, I’d be able to learn its assessed value. While I was certain we weren’t talking the six figures that Al thought it could fetch, I was confident it would be in the upper five-figure range.
Was that enough to want one’s husband dead? Only further investigation would answer that.
Then I had a brain blast. What if Shelly and Vic were working together? The thought made me shudder. There was a certain logic to it, as twisted as it might be. They both stood to strike gold from the untimely death of Newton Arbogast.
By the time I finished a to-do list my musings had generated, my sandwich was gone and only a few fries remained. Al returned to top off my drink.
“If the wheels inside your head were spinning any faster, I’d be afraid you’d spin right off your seat.” He smiled, but his dark eyes were wary.
“I’ve got a few avenues to explore, thanks to you.” I munched on a fry. “And better yet for you, the only remaining request I have is for the check.”
His jaw unclenched. It was something I wouldn’t have seen if he still had his beard. While I still wanted the facial hair to return, it was gratifying that my choice to forgo more questions made him happy.
A moment later, he came back with the check. He slapped it down in front of me but didn’t remove his hand.
“Riddle me this, Kickboxing Crusader. Why are you getting involved in this? Haven’t you done enough already?”
“Why, Al Hammond, I do believe you are concerned for my safety.” Evidently, my impersonation of Scarlett O’Hara was unconvincing because he kept an unflinching gaze on me.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” I held my tongue until he nodded. “Ursi wants me to do it.”
His eyes went wide. “Your cat? What, do you have some kind of psychic link now? Or have you taken the winter months to learn how to speak cat?”
I put up my hands, even though I wanted to throttle the man for making fun of me. He had my best interests as heart, after all.
“It’s a feeling. The way Cammy treats Ursi has me convinced that she’s incapable of something as violent as murder. And the way Ursi puts up with her poking and prodding during an exam, there’s a level of trust there that she doesn’t share with anyone else except maybe Sloane. Not even me.”
I shook my head. First, I was rambling. Second, my rambling made me sound like someone who needed professional help. It was about to get worse, though.
“I don’t know how or why, but I’m convinced Ursi knows what’s going on and she wants me to help her doctor. She’s always been there for me. I have to do this for her. If you think this sounds crazy, you know how to get ahold of my mom.”
Al scratched his chin, then smiled. This time, the warmth reached his eyes and practically wrapped me up in it.
“Now you listen to me, young lady. If I was going to call your mom because I was worried about some crazy thing you’d done or said, I’d have made the call ages ago. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Sometimes, I think the walls of the diner speak to me. Almost as if ghosts of satisfied customers want to have a chat. Does it sound crazy? Sure it does. But I think I have such a close connection to this place, I sense things others don’t.”
He put my bill in his pocket. “Far be it from me to pass judgment when someone with your integrity believes in it. Your father would be proud of you for following your convictions so strongly.”
I teared up. My dad was my hero. Even though he’d been gone for over two years, whenever I thought of him, the pain returned as cutting as the day he died. To be mentioned in the same breath as him was a compliment beyond measure.
“Thanks, Al. It’s nice to know you think I’m doing the right thing.”
“Aye, that I do. Now, go figure out who killed your little Ursi’s doctor. And make us all proud.”
That was an order I looked forward to carrying out.
Chapter Seven
As I was about to head out from Big Al’s, bells jingled as someone entered. It was Maybelle Schuman, retired teacher and Rushing Creek’s main gossip, in the flesh.
I didn’t like rumormongers. They dealt in half-truths and lies like a gangster dealt in guns and drugs. I’d been the subject of a few Maybelle-assisted stories in the past. It had been tough to deal with, but spending almost a decade working in New York City had helped me develop a hide as tough as an armadillo. That thick skin had turned into an invaluable asset when I started investigating murders in my hometown.
It also came in handy when dealing with Maybelle. The woman knew more about what was happening in town than anyone, including the cops. In recent years, I’d come to see her as someone I could rely on to give me useful information, albeit with so much hyperbole, finding the real info was like sifting through a bucket of sludge in search of a tiny gold nugget.
We’d reached an understanding of sorts. As an incurable gossip, Maybelle never hesitated to share the latest scoop with me. Most of the time, when we crossed paths, I listened attentively with the respect she deserved as one of my elders. She’d taught me in third grade and put up with my nine-year-old antics without once raising her voice at me. It was the least I could do. When our conversation ended, I’d go on my way with a reminder to myself to never repeat a single piece of gossip she passed along.
When I was looking into a murder, the dynamic morphed like the shapeshifters in one of my client’s sci-fi novels.
I still listened with a critical ear, but I also asked questions, made mental notes, and followed up with other people about things she told me. She seemed to consider herself an informant passing on valuable intelligence to me, like we were straight out of a Murder, She Wrote episode.
It was time to put her to work again.
“Hey, Maybelle. How are you?” I gave her a little wave, but instead of leaving, as had been the plan, I stayed in place.
“Allie Cobb. My, this is a pleasant surprise.” She sidled up next to me. “Can you believe the news about that veterinarian? Shocking!”
I smiled inside. Sometimes, getting information out of Maybelle was easier than counting to five on my fingers.
“What have you heard?” I directed Maybelle to a nearby booth while I asked a server for two cups of coffee.
“Well, as you know, I don’t like to spread false information.” She poured milk into her coffee. I couldn’t help wondering if it was a way to keep me in suspense.
“Of course not. News of a murder is always upsetting, though. I imagine it’s on a lot of folks’ minds.”
“Isn’t that the truth. I’d bet a lot of people are breathing easier since that doctor bumped him off.”
I took a few moments to let Maybelle’s comment run around inside my head. It was odd, as if she were hinting that Newt had more than his fair share of enemies but didn’t want to come out and say it.
“I take it there are some other people who had their problems with Mr. Arbogast.”
“Well, everybody knows about the Great Garage Gripe. Don’t you?”
While I appreciated the use of alliteration, I had no idea what Maybelle was talking about. I shook my head.
“It all goes back to when the Bouchards, Henri and Elise, moved next door to the Arbogasts. At first, it was all wine and roses. Newt and Shelly loved to tell people about the glamorous artists from France who were their neighbors. Then Henri asked the city for a zoning variance on their property and things went downhill from there.”
I knew about the Bouchards. They were a lovely couple who, in my book, had the finest art gallery in town. In addition to showing their own work, they featured art from all over the States and imported from Europe. People came from every corner of the Midwest to shop there.
“What happened?”
“Henri wanted to build a two-story building in his backyard for their studio. He had architectural drawings made up and everything. They had to ask for the variance because buildings in their neighborhood that aren’t attached to the house can’t be taller than one story.”
The lesson in the workings of property regulations in my community was not without its good points. I didn’t see where this was going, though.
“Anyway, Henri filed his request without talking to any of the neighbors first. There was a mandatory hearing to see if anyone objected. Well, Newt showed up and made a huge fuss. He supposedly said all kinds of nasty things about the Bouchards and that their building would ruin the neighborhood.”
Disputes between neighbors went back as far as when people first began communal living. A good neighbor was worth more than the box office take from the latest Agatha Christie film adaptation.
“I get it. Newt’s objection brought the project to a halt. That made for bad blood between the Arbogasts and the Bouchards.” Honestly, it seemed like a stretch to go from a property dispute to murder. Still. “When was this?”
Maybelle scratched an earlobe. “Five or six years ago.”
That was a long time to hold on to a grudge. I knew people who had held them for much longer, though.
“You said Newt went to the hearing. Do you know whether his wife objected to the project, too?”
“Not as far as I can remember. I think Shelly’s on good terms with the Bouchards.” She let out a little snort. “Probably better than she was with Newt.”
That caught my attention. “What makes you say that?”
“Once their kids grew up and moved away, it became clear that their marriage existed in name only. I rarely saw them out in public together. Probably because he spent all his free time at the gun club.”
That was the second time the gun club had come up. I made a mental note to check it out. While I really wanted to get this most recent information on paper, I never took notes in Maybelle’s presence. I did have one more question for her, though.
“I’ve heard Shelly and Victor Allen were friendly. Any truth to that?” I was hoping to establish a connection beyond a simple mutual interest in the closure of the taxidermy and leather shop. And sooner rather than later.
“I know that after Newt turned Vic down the third or fourth time, Vic tried to get Shelly to talk some sense into him. We all know how that turned out, don’t we?”
“Indeed.” I drummed my fingers on the table. “How long has Vic been trying to get Newt to sell?”
“Oh, easily a decade or more. Vic’s a persistent one. That’s how he made the inn such a success. Hard work and determination.” She finished her coffee. “I guess there’s nothing to stop Shelly from selling the place now.”
There sure wasn’t. Which put Vic and Shelly at the top of my suspect list.
It was time to extricate myself from Maybelle. If I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself here with her all afternoon.
“I need to get going. Just one more question. Why did he spend so much time at the gun club?”
“He drummed up a lot of his business there. That’s why he joined the club in the first place. Over the years, he spent so much time at the club, he got himself elected president.”
“I take it he was popular there?”
“Very. He was elected unanimously the last two years. Everyone loved him. You should talk to Sal Green. They were best friends. Sal can tell you all about the club.”
I thanked Maybelle for her time and got going. I needed to think about everything she’d told me. While I had no reason to doubt her, one thing was certain.
Somebody out there didn’t love Newt. Quite the opposite. And the feeling was strong enough to want him dead.
Chapter Eight
As I clicked my bike helmet’s chin strap into place, I glanced at the sky. It was a uniform sheet of slate gray. Not even a sliver of blue. Typically depressing for February in Indiana. On the other hand, there was no snow in the forecast, which was a win in my book.
Growing up, I loved snow. Sloane and I would spend hours outdoors, reveling in the magical winter wonderland. We’d build snow forts, have snowball fights, and hold competitions to determine who could make the perfect snow angel.
By the time I graduated from college and headed off to New York for my first job in the publishing world, my perspective had changed. Sadly, I’d lost the joy that snowfall brought to my childhood. I still enjoyed the beauty of it but disliked the travel challenges that came with an accumulation that exceeded a few inches. Trudging through half a foot of the white stuff was a workout, and not the kind I cared to engage in.
Plus, Ursi couldn’t go out in those conditions. My fur baby enjoyed going for walks. Being cooped up in the backpack carrier was a poor substitute for getting her fresh air.
Since the conditions were favorable, I decided to take a trip to the gun club to see what there was to see. It was either that or go home. And once I got warmed up inside the apartment, there would be no going back outside.
The gun club was a few miles east of town, just off State Road Forty-Six. As I cranked the pedals to get up to speed, I called to mind the times I’d been there.
The first visit had been for a gun safety class. Mom forbade guns in the house, but she and Dad agreed on the importance of being educated about them. So, the summer between seventh and eighth grade, Dad took Sloane and me to the club for a two-day class. Day one served as an introduction to firearms. On day two, the instructors taught us how to handle and store them safely. At the end of the class, the kids in attendance took turns shooting a variety of firearms, from handguns to muskets to hunting rifles. Then, we received certificates of achievement and iron-on patches.
The next time I was there was during high school. My U.S. History class paid the club a visit for a demonstration of the firearms used during the Revolutionary War. The reenactors were dressed in period outfits, which I thought was a little over the top. The speed and precision they used to reload and fire the muskets was jaw-dropping, though. At the end of the program, I joined the rest of the class in a rousing round of applause.
Another good memory from my youth.
On my most recent trip to the gun club, I almost ended up in jail. It was the summer between my junior and senior years in college. I’d been hanging out with Sloane and some other friends at Hoosiers Sports Bar when one of the guys said he had a bunch of fireworks in his pickup. He wanted to shoot them off somewhere and was looking for suggestions.
With visions of fire, smoke, and the deafening roar of musket fire in my head, I suggested the gun club. In no time, all six of us had downed our beers, piled into the bed of his truck, and were off to light up the night sky.
We were having the time of our lives oohing and aahing at the bright colors and percussive blasts. Then two cop cars showed up with their spotlights trained on us and their lights flashing overhead. They were sending a clear message.
We were in trouble.
It took some sweet talking and showing the officers some damaged fencing we’d snuck in through to convince them we weren’t there for anything nefarious. After we cleaned up our mess, they confiscated the handful of unused fireworks remaining and told us if they ever caught us there again, they were taking us straight to the county lockup.
Over the years, it became a story I shared with Luke, Rachel, and friends, but never with Mom and Dad. Some things were best kept from one’s parents.
I was sure this visit wasn’t going to go into the good memory column. To be honest, as I turned left off the state highway and motored up a small rise, I wasn’t sure want I hoped to gain. Then again, Newt spent an awful lot of time there. It was practically a second home. If nothing else, it might give me a bit of insight into the man.
The worst-case scenario would leave me with no answers, but a decent little workout. There were worse ways to spend a Wednesday afternoon.
A simple wooden signpost marked the entrance to the club. I turned into a gravel parking lot that had space for a couple dozen vehicles. A dark gray pickup was parked, like a lonely sentinel, near the entrance gate.
In the decade or so since I’d last visited, the club had replaced the rusty barrier my friends and I had snuck through with twelve-foot-high chain-link fencing. I couldn’t help but wonder if our escapade had prompted the upgrade. Regardless, with a Stay Out. Private Property sign attached near the gate, it was an impressive look. The club had certainly thrived under Newt’s stewardship.
The hinges squeaked when I pulled the gate open, no doubt due to the cold weather. My footfalls echoed as I walked across the frozen ground toward a single-story clapboard building. It was the organization’s clubhouse. Other than a new coat of brown paint, the exterior appeared unchanged from the last time I’d been here.
The stark light from a set of fluorescent bulbs emanated from a window at the corner of the structure. If memory served, it was the business office. Whoever was in the building was no doubt the owner of the pickup in the parking lot.
Jane Marple would have been so proud of my deductive reasoning.
The clubhouse door was unlocked, so I knocked twice then opened it.
“Hello? Anybody here?”
“Be there in a sec.” A male’s voice I didn’t recognize came from the business office.
Great. Here I was, trying to dredge up intel on a dead man, and I was going to have to face a stranger. While folks in Southern Indiana were generally friendly, they typically weren’t inclined to dish out information on a platter to a stranger.
Since there was nothing to be done about the situation, I figured I’d put my best foot forward. And hope my reputation as a bossy buttinsky didn’t precede me. At least not too much.
A silver-haired man with a receding hairline emerged from the office. A pair of reading glasses hung from a chain around his neck. As he bustled toward me, his round belly bounced in rhythm with each step he took.
“Welcome to the Knobstone Rifle and Pistol Club.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Salvatore Green, the club’s treasurer. Are you interested in a membership?”
I introduced myself as we shook. His firm but not crushing grip and disarming smile put me at ease.
“Of course, Ms. Cobb. I should have recognized you from your pictures in the Beacon. What brings you by?”
His mention of the local weekly newspaper made me want to cringe. Despite my pleas, it had taken my Kickboxing Crusader moniker and helped transform it from a friendly joke between Sloane and me into a community-wide superhero of sorts. One of the local retailers sold shirts with a garish logo proclaiming Rushing Creek, Home of the Kickboxing Crusader. This past Halloween, a handful of little girls had been seen wearing costumes that bore a gold shield with the letters K and C on it.
It felt good to help my community. I could totally do without all the Kickboxing Crusader silliness, though.
“I’m here about Newt Arbogast, rest his soul. The circumstances surrounding his death are a little odd, so I’m trying to get to know the man. I understand he spent a lot of time here.”
His smile morphed into a frown. “I thought the police already caught the murderer. That pain-in-the-neck vet.”
So, the stories about Cammy’s clashes with Newt weren’t just stories. And didn’t apply only to the deceased. This conversation was headed in the right direction. I needed to handle it with a delicate touch so Mr. Green didn’t toss me out on my backside, though.
“They’ve taken her in for questioning.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and put on my best smile. “But you know my reputation. Someone asked me to investigate the situation and I couldn’t say no. So, what do you do as treasurer, Mr. Green?”
Turning the spotlight on him must have done the trick, because the smile returned, and he gestured for me to accompany him into the office.
“Keep the lights on and some other things. I like to say I do a little bit of this and a little bit of that. And call me Sal. My father was Mr. Green.” He settled himself into an executive-style office chair that had seen better days. The leather finish was worn away and stuffing was protruding from two tiny rips near the crown. The casters let out pained grinding sounds while he moved himself into position behind an equally beat-up wood-finished desk.
So, the club didn’t spend a bunch of money on office furniture. That seemed like a good thing.
I laughed at the self-deprecating description of his duties. I’d often seen that the secretary or treasurer positions of volunteer organizations were the ones who got stuck with the minutiae. Nobody else wanted those jobs. Yet, it was the attention to detail required of those who filled those positions that kept operations like this afloat.
“You’re being too modest. After all”—I swept my arm to the side—“I don’t see anyone else from the club here today.”
He put his feet up on a corner of the desk. “You’re good. There’s not that much, though. The club’s board of directors meets once a month. I keep the minutes. I also handle the bank account. We used to have two people do it, but I volunteered to cover both positions a while back. It’s been tough recruiting someone to take on the secretary duties, but I don’t mind.”
“That’s got to be a tough blow to lose your president, I’d imagine. Especially so suddenly.” I’d read dozens of stories in which an organization’s board members were at odds with each other so much that a crime was committed by one against another. I couldn’t help wondering if that might be the case with this board.
“It is. Really tough. Newt wasn’t just the club’s president. He was my friend. That’s why I’m here today. I’m working on a memorial service we’re going to have for him.” He stopped for a moment and looked out the window. “We knew each other our whole lives. Grew up together. I talked him into asking Shelly out on a date back when we were in high school.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
He waved my apology away. “You probably didn’t know this either, but he wouldn’t have gotten involved with taxidermy if not for me.”
“How so?” I had him talking. This was good.
“I work at the state park. Started out as a volunteer at the nature center in high school. One time Newt came by there to pick me up. We were going to go to Columbus to see Star Wars. Anyway, when my shift was over, I went to grab my stuff. When I came back, he was staring at a stuffed pileated woodpecker like it was the most amazing thing on Earth.”
“I remember seeing that display when I was a kid. Loved visiting the nature center.” I truly adored Rolling Hills State Park and everything within it, from the hiking trails to the dining room at the inn, to the nature center and horse stables. “Where in the park do you work?”
“Over the years, I’ve worked all over. I’m in the admin office, now. Only eighteen months until I retire.”
While I could have chatted about the park all afternoon, I needed to get back on topic.
“You said Dr. Flanagan was a pain in the neck. What do you mean?”
“She’s one of those people who doesn’t believe in the Second Amendment. Three or four times a year, she stands out by the side of the road going on about how hunting is cruel to animals. She couldn’t be more wrong. I can show you data to prove it.”
“Was she bad for business? Did you have to call the cops on her?”
“We actually saw an uptick in our membership when she started the protests. This club’s been around for almost a hundred years. I think people didn’t like her going after it.”
“Understandable.” While the picture Sal painted of Cammy wasn’t flattering, it was a Grand Canyon–sized leap to go from protestor to murderer.
“I understand he was your friend and that you want justice done. I want that, too. By making sure the right person is brought to justice. With that in mind, do you know if Newt had any enemies, other than Cammy?”
“If the doc didn’t do it, I’d look at that French couple. I never did trust them. Personally, I think their whole hoity-toity Euro vibe is a fake. It wouldn’t surprise me to fund out they’re a couple of grifters from some big East Coast city.”
Yikes. I made a mental note to never get on Sal Green’s bad side.
“Anybody else?”
After a moment, he sat upright and pointed a finger at me. “Come to think of it, yes. Vic Allen’s a slippery one. He’s had his eye on Newt’s shop, and Shelly, for a long time.”
Interesting. His comment implied there might have been more going on between the widow and the hotelier than merely a business arrangement. Which meant even more motive for murder. I gave myself an imaginary high five for deciding to make the trip.
We chatted for a while longer, then I thanked Sal for his candor and let myself out. The trip had borne fruit. The problem was, I wasn’t sure what kind, exactly.
One thing was beyond doubt, though. It was time to take a closer look at Victor Allen. And to find out just how cozy he and the Widow Arbogast had gotten.
Was it cozy enough to conspire to commit murder?
Chapter Nine
I spent a good portion of my evening catching up on work email. Despite my desire to get all my sleuthing information down on paper, agent work came first.
Not until that was done did I open my notebook. Al, Maybelle, and Sal had given me enough information to fill a dozen pages with observations. It was after one a.m. when I hit the sack, exhausted by my efforts. I fell into a dreamless sleep with Ursi curled up at my feet.
When the alarm went off the next morning, I practically leapt from bed, ready to take on the day. As I brewed a pot of coffee, I marveled at how good I felt given how late I’d stayed up.
“I need to spend more time outside on the bike, girl.” I scooped some fancy cat foot onto a plate and put it next to Ursi’s water fountain. “Haven’t slept that good in ages.”
My feline stopped eating long enough to flick one ear back, then went right back to gobbling up her breakfast. God love her, as much as I wanted her to, she couldn’t be bothered to carry on a conversation with me while she was eating.
I put two English muffins in the toaster and was scrambling some eggs with peppers and sliced ham when there were four rapid knocks on the door. It was Calypso’s signature knock.
Today was a big day for her. For the first time, a book she worked on had been published. Normally, she didn’t join me on publication day. Since today was no ordinary day, I’d invited her to join me for a celebratory breakfast.
“And here is the woman of the hour.” I gave Calypso a fist bump as she sauntered through the doorway. “Coffee’s ready. Pour yourself some while I finish the eggs.”
“Now this is the way to live.” Calypso licked her lips as she filled her King Kong–sized coffee mug. “I won’t say no if you want to make me breakfast every day.”
“Unless you can transfigure yourself into a cat, don’t count on it. And if you do, you need to be prepared to submit to Ursi’s alpha female status.”
“Let me check with Auntie R and get back with you.” Calypso’s stomach growled as I handed her a plate laden with mouthwatering eggs and an aromatic English muffin.
“I wouldn’t count on your aunt helping you on this. Unless you’re okay with eating granola or oatmeal every morning.”
Calypso’s Auntie R was more commonly known in town as Renee Gomez. She was also the owner of the building I lived in as well as the bookstore located on the first floor directly below my apartment.
Even though Renee was my landlord and lived in the apartment across the hall from me, I didn’t know much about her. She’d made it clear on more than one occasion that was the way she wanted it. I had no problem at all with her desire for privacy.
Once Calypso moved to town, cracks began to form in Renee’s fortress of privacy. That was in large part due to Calypso’s complete lack of a filter. If something was on the young woman’s mind, she said it. Loud enough for everyone to hear.
Through that, I’d learned that Renee had never married, took a year off from college to live in Europe, didn’t eat beef, and kept her breakfasts simple by sticking to either granola or oatmeal. It wasn’t much, but for a woman who shrouded herself in mystery, it was something.
And begged too many questions to count.
“Fine. Have it your way, Boss.” She shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth. “On second thought, can I hire you as my personal chef?”
“You couldn’t afford me.” I chewed on a bite of English muffin as I powered up my laptop. It was time to steer the conversation toward something we readily agreed upon. Good news for the Cobb Literary Agency.
While Calypso enjoyed her breakfast, I posted a congratulatory message on the agency loop. I mentioned Calypso’s achievement in the post and made sure to tag her. I hadn’t told her I was going to do that, so it could be a surprise.
We discussed agency issues while we finished breakfast. It was an upbeat conversation. Our authors were happy. We were making deals and selling books. The agency was thriving.
I couldn’t be happier with my current place in the world.
After topping off her mug, Calypso said she had to head out. She’d promised to help Renee go through a dozen boxes of used paperbacks Renee had bought at an estate sale.
“She promised to give me a break on next month’s rent if I organize and catalogue the books.” Even with a family discount on rent, Renee was constantly paying her to do odd jobs. It helped the young woman make ends meet. It wasn’t easy getting by on the income from two part-time jobs, even for someone young and with few expenses.
“If you come across any classic mysteries, let me know. I’ll pay top dollar for first dibs.”
She rolled her eyes and pointed at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that ran along one wall. They were almost full. At last count, I owned eight hundred and five books. Not including the electronic type. I’d stopped counting those at twenty-five hundred.
“You have a book problem.”
“I have no problem with books. Finding time to read them all is the problem.”
“Whatevs. I’m outta here.” With a wave, she grabbed the messenger bag she’d dropped by the door and made her exit.
The rest of the morning flew by as I immersed myself in a client’s manuscript, and over a light lunch I responded to a handful of client emails. My goal was to return all client contact the same day or within twenty-four hours at the latest. Normally, it wasn’t a problem.
When I was investigating a murder, it could be a challenge to make sure the distractions that came with it didn’t overwhelm me. My clients were kind and patient people, but they hired me to be their literary agent, not an amateur crime fighter.
Once work was caught up, I returned to my case notebook. Yesterday had been spent in sponge mode. Now that I’d had a night to absorb the information, I wanted to study it, and hopefully identify some clues.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get to sleuthing.”
Ursi was snoozing on one of her window perches. She looked at me for a moment, yawned wide enough that her face disappeared, then leapt to the floor and sauntered into my office.
It was as if she sensed I was going to work on helping her friend and wanted to lend a paw. Sometimes, it seemed like my cat knew exactly what was happening in her world.
I let out a laugh as Ursi jumped into my lap the microsecond I got seated at my desk.
“I guess you do want to help, huh?”
She let out an insistent meh, meh, meh and pawed at the notebook on the desktop.
With my marching orders in place, I flipped to a blank page. My first task was to organize my suspect list. I made my usual four columns with the corresponding headings—Name, Motive, Means, Opportunity.
My furry boss took a swipe at me when I wrote Cammy’s name in the far left column.
“Until she’s cleared, I have to include her. Would have been nice if you’d have been this supportive when I was a suspect.”
While she pretended to ignore me, I added Victor Allen, Shelly Arbogast, Henri Bouchard, and Elise Bouchard to the list.
“Happy now?”
She licked a paw, ignoring me with the level of singlemindedness normally seen in an elite athlete training for the Olympic Games.
I moved to the Motive column. I had a mixed bag when it came to reasons my suspects would want Newt dead. For Vic, it was easy. Now he’d finally be able to get his hands on the property he wanted. Shelly would get her retirement nest egg and be out of an apparently loveless marriage.
The motive for the Bouchards was less clear. Sure, with Newt gone, they might be able to build their studio, but was that enough of a reason to murder the man? As I made my notations on the page, it seemed like a stretch. Then again, they may have held a grudge that, having festered over the years, got out of control.
Another thought occurred to me. It was a leap to assume the husband and wife both wanted him dead. Even if they did, that didn’t mean they worked together to commit the awful act. There was much to learn before I could start to draw any conclusions.
After glancing at Ursi to make sure I wasn’t in danger of being swatted again, I turned my attention to Cammy. Setting aside my friendly feelings for the woman, what did she gain from Newt’s demise? Money didn’t seem to be a factor. Neither did power.
A target of her criticism was silenced. Someone whose job and lifestyle choices she didn’t agree with was gone. Sure, the taxidermy shop would probably close, but the gun club wouldn’t. After all, Sal had said her protests had helped, not hindered, the organization.
Cammy’s motive was less compelling than the Bouchards’. If she did it, which I doubted with all my heart, something else had been at play.
The next column, Means, was a big problem for the vet. Despite her denials to the police, she had easy access to xylazine, the drug used to kill Newt. One thing puzzled me about that. She told the cops she used it on cats to get them to throw up poisonous substances they’d ingested. Was that its only use?
A quick Internet search gave me the answer. It was one I didn’t like. While the drug was, in fact, used with felines, it was also commonly used as a large animal tranquilizer. And an amount the size of Cammy’s empty vial was plenty to do in a human.
Fine, she had the means. Did any of the others have access to xylazine? It seemed unlikely that Henri, a sculptor, and Elise, a painter, would. The owner of a hotel wouldn’t likely have access to it, either. Score that point in Vic’s favor.
What about Shelly? My research indicated the drug wasn’t used in taxidermy, so Newt probably hadn’t kept any on hand. But it wasn’t a stretch to presume the man knew a lot of people who dealt with creatures in all sorts of ways, including large and small animal vets. Maybe Shelly could have gotten her hands on the drug that way. It seemed like a stretch, but now was not the time to discount possibilities.
I needed to find facts and have them define the story. That way, the actual truth of what happened would come out. It couldn’t be the other way around. Starting from an assumption or predetermined story and trying to force the facts into it was a recipe for a novel with a bad ending.
It was also a surefire way to bungle a murder investigation.
The last column, Opportunity, would have to remain blank for now. Until I determined which of my suspects could account for their whereabouts between Friday morning and Sunday evening, they all had the opportunity to commit murder.
With the exercise complete, I had a much clearer view of the situation. Despite what my heart, and Ursi, was telling me, Cammy was looking good for the murder. Shelly wasn’t far behind and was neck and neck with Vic, especially when I included the coconspirator angle. Henri and Elise were at the bottom of the list. That didn’t mean a whole lot now, though.
There was much legwork to be done. And there was no time like the present.
Chapter Ten
After assuring Ursi I was working hard at clearing her dear vet’s name, I got bundled up and headed outside. The sky was as uniformly gray as the day before, which was bad enough. To make things more depressing, the wind had picked up and was pelting me with tiny grains of sleet.
Undaunted by the insistent tink, tink of the ice balls bouncing off the steel frame, I mounted my steed, made sure both of my head and taillights were on, and headed for the library.
The Victoria Napier Memorial Library at Rushing Creek, or the Napier, as most people called it, was the most reliable source for information about Rushing Creek and its environs. More specifically, it housed digital archives of the Brown County Beacon. And that’s where I could dig into news reports about Newt’s property disputes, both with the Bouchards and with Vic.
It was also where my boyfriend, Brent Richardson, worked. Visiting the library provided me with some benefits not afforded to the typical patron. All of which were completely aboveboard. Then again, if holding hands and stealing kisses with my beau in the library was a crime, I was guilty.
One of the part-timers was working the checkout desk, so I gave him a wave and strolled toward Brent’s office. On my way, I paused to peruse the recent releases. My clients’ books were prominently displayed right next to Margaret Atwood and Harlan Coben, some of the biggest names in the fiction world. Heady company, indeed.
I bopped the rest of the way with a joyful spring in my step.
“Love the collection of new books you’ve got out there.” I leaned against the doorframe. Brent liked to keep the door open. He said it facilitated communication with customers and staff. The approach left me wondering how he got any work done.
Then again, the fact that he routinely worked sixty hours a week answered that question.
“Hey, you.” He swept a small box into a desk drawer. Then he came from behind the desk and wrapped me up in a big hug. Of course, since he was over a foot taller than me, it wasn’t hard for him to do that. “What brings you by? Is it still lousy outside?”
“Not bad enough to stop me from doing a little research.” I told him about my mission.
Brent didn’t like me getting involved in murder cases. It wasn’t that he didn’t think I was capable. He was worried I’d get hurt.
Or worse.
He’d eventually accepted the fact that if someone needed my help, I was going to answer the call. Regardless of how dangerous providing the requested assistance might be. He didn’t like it, but he’d stopped reminding me of that fact.
I appreciated the support and made a mental note to tell him more often. Brent was a wonderful guy. I was lucky to have him in my life. In recent weeks, I’d even been contemplating a permanent arrangement. It was an idea I found myself warming to after years of insisting I was utterly content on my own.
“Yeah, I can’t see Dr. Flanagan doing something like that, either. She’s too nice.” Brent took his golden retriever, Sammy, to her clinic. He knew the woman almost as well as I did.
It was a relief to know he concurred with my opinion of Cammy.
“So, what’s your plan?” He leaned against a corner of his desk. “And more importantly, how can I help?”
“I want to know more about the man himself. Everyone talks about him like he was this great guy—”
“Except for Dr. Flanagan.”
“Exactly. And yet he had problems with his wife and with the neighbors. Too many puzzle pieces are missing. I’m hoping some old-fashioned research will shed some light on things.”
“The library’s resources are at your disposal. Be sure to look for his name in the records of town council meetings. Public testimony about the variance issue should be covered there.” He kissed me on the cheek, then returned to his station behind the desk.
“I’ll talk to some of my more regular patrons. See if they know anything. Or if they have any suspicions.”
“You’re the best. Love ya.” Both things were true.
• • •
A couple of hours later, I closed my eyes and gave them a good rub.
The Beacon had covered the variance dispute in microscopic detail. I couldn’t help wondering if it was because there was nothing else going on in my quiet hometown, or something deeper. The reporting did give me a flavor of the toxic relationship that the dispute had brewed.
Henri had been the angriest, even throwing around allegations that Newt had sexually harassed Elise. The accused denied the charge, but it made me wonder.
Was Henri furious enough at Newt to want him dead? It didn’t seem out of the question. Out-of-control passion often led to disastrous outcomes.
Vic’s attempts to buy the taxidermy property? Not nearly as newsworthy. There were a few letters to the editor supporting his efforts. Those folks saw it as progress and a way to beautify the Boulevard. Others were in Newt’s corner. Rushing Creek had always been about small artisans and artists selling wares they’d produced themselves. They saw Vic’s overtures as the big guy bullying the little one.
The information didn’t give me any new insight. It did support the premise that Vic would stop at nothing to get his hands on Newt’s property sooner or later, though.
Did that include murder?
That question remained to be answered. I’d reached the end of my research road. It had filled in a few blank spots. More importantly, it had also pointed me in my next direction.
It was time to pay the grieving widow a visit.
Shelly Arbogast was a computer expert who did freelance support work for a lot of the small businesses in the area. Among her clients was the Cobb Literary Agency.
We’d initially crossed paths at the library. Brent had hired her to upgrade the facility’s wi-fi during his early days in the director’s chair. On a personal level, I found her to be a pleasant woman. On a professional level, I was thrilled to meet a female working for herself in the tech industry.
She’d also gotten involved with the 9/11 Memorial committee the previous September. Her enthusiasm and willingness to take on any task assigned to her had been a big help for me. We’d worked together posting flyers around town, putting chairs in place the day of the event, and even cleaning up afterward.
When I arrived at her front door, I took a deep breath before I knocked. I had no idea whether I’d be greeted by someone in mourning or someone celebrating.
“Allie, how nice of you to stop by.” She looked at the apple pie I’d picked up on my way and smiled. “Come on in.”
She led me through an airy foyer down a short hall to the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances dominated the room. White walls and black granite countertops completed an industrial feel. I took a seat on one of the black bar stools at the island while Shelly placed the pie next to a gleaming chrome espresso machine.
“The kids and grandkids are getting into town this evening. This pie will be a nice treat. Thank you.”
Shelly would never be mistaken for a Chatty Cathy, so if I was going to get any information out of her, I’d have to lead the conversation. It was safe to start with the obvious, so I asked her how she was coping.
“I don’t know. It’s such a shock.” She made us each an espresso, her fingers playing with strands of her collar-length gray hair the whole time, then took a seat next to me. “Then again, he was never around, so it’s not like I’m suddenly all alone.”
All righty, then. If Shelly was going to open the front door I wasn’t going to bother trying to sneak in through the back.
“I heard he liked to spend a lot of time at the gun club.” I kept my focus on the tiny drink in front of me. The last thing I wanted to do was appear like I was fishing for information. I mean, I was doing exactly that, but there was no need to be obvious about what I was doing.
“A lot? Yeah, right.” She let out a loud hmpf. “More like all his free time. I’ll freely admit my job means sometimes I have crazy work hours. But I tried to maintain a reasonable home life. Did you know that when we were first married, Newton did all the cooking? And then after dinner, we’d dance together while we cleaned up.”
“That’s a sweet story.” I meant it. The thought of a young couple finding joy in sharing the little things in life made me smile.
She let out a sigh that carried the weight of the world. Her hazel eyes got misty at the same time.
“Then the kids came along, and we bought this place, and before we knew it, twenty years had gone by. Once the kids were grown and we had the place to ourselves, he spent more and more time at the shop and the club. And then, after Sal got divorced, I saw even less of him. Instead of getting closer as we got older, we drifted further and further apart.”
It was heartbreaking to confirm the stories of marital discord were true. Still, her words seemed filled with remorse about missing out on a lifetime of happiness with her spouse. Not being happy he was gone.
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” She sniffed. “Thanks for letting me vent. You can’t be too careful what you say around some people, if you know what I mean.”
Indeed, I did.
“Appreciate your willingness to confide in me.” I took a sip. The frothy chocolaty drink was an experience of divine decadence. I shared the sentiment with Shelly.
“Thank you. It was a peace offering from Henri and Elise next door after Newt pulled the rug out from underneath their request. He threw a hissy fit when I told him where it came from.”
“That’s too bad.” Spending time with Shelly was tarnishing Newt’s good-guy image faster than I could have imagined.
“Not really. I made a big deal out of boxing it up and taking it to the car. I was pulling out of the garage when he came outside and told me to keep it. I got the final say in that kerfuffle.” Her eyes took on a mischievous gleam as we shared a laugh.
“I take it you weren’t opposed to the studio?”
“Of course not. They’re artists, for Heaven’s sake. It’s not like they wanted to build a garage for noisy race cars or, I don’t know, a recording studio.” She finished her espresso and went to make another. “Who knows. Now with Newton gone, maybe they’ll submit the variance request again. I won’t stop them. This town was founded as an artists’ colony, after all.”
“So, you’re on friendly terms with them?” The intimation of Newt and Elise having an affair niggled at me, like a mosquito bite that was just out of reach but begging to be scratched.
“Absolutely.” She turned toward me as the machine gurgled to life. “Elise makes the most amazing pastries. Every now and then, she’ll bring some by. I return the favor with fresh veggies from my garden. There’s nothing more to it, though. If you get my drift.”
I nodded. It didn’t take Duchess Jax from the Court of Mystery novels to decode Shelly’s message. There was no truth to the rumor Newt and Elise had carried on an affair.
Or, if they had, Newt had kept it a secret. One he took all the way to the grave.
I glanced at the microwave to check the time. Like the fridge and the stove, it had a stainless steel finish. The appliances called to mind the photos of trendy kitchens in glossy magazines that Mom liked to read. No expense had been spared when they’d updated the kitchen. Which begged another question.
Did Newt and Shelly have money problems?
A look around confirmed that there was no stack of unopened letters with “Past Due” stamped in bold red lettering on them. That would have been way too convenient. I made a mental note to check online court records when I got home. I’d forgotten do to that at the library.
It was only a little after four and Shelly hadn’t indicated she wanted me out of the house, so I changed gears.
“Do you have someone to work at Newt’s shop until things settle down?”
“No. Newton liked to maintain control. Truth be told, he loved his work, and that place. At times, it seemed he loved it more than he loved his family.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a cloth napkin. “I know that sounds harsh, but it’s true. In the end, we weren’t much more than roommates.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you stay together?”
“Made more sense, financially. The last few years, the shop was losing money. I offered to set up a website so he could get into online commerce, but he didn’t want to do that. I can’t imagine how much revenue he lost out on because of that decision.”
“Indeed.” As someone whose livelihood depended on the Internet, I sympathized with Shelly. My generation had grown up with tech. It was second nature to go online to search for a new custom-made leather belt or motorcycling jacket. A trip to the friendly leatherworker didn’t even enter the minds of a lot of people my age.
“I’m the one who was keeping us afloat. Shoot, my consulting work with the library paid for this kitchen. Since I was financially supporting him, there was no way I was going to get a divorce and let him have half of everything. I’ve worked too hard for that.”
“I guess you don’t have to worry about that now, huh?” It was an antagonistic reply, but she was so taciturn, I wanted to see if I could provoke her.
She let out a bitter laugh. “I must sound like a horrible person.”
“Not at all. More like an honest one.” I dialed back on the confrontational angle to keep her talking.
“Thank you. I guess I’m tired of everyone telling me how much of a saint he was. He had his flaws, just like the rest of us. I was the one picking up the pieces of the latest financial mess he got us in.”
“Any thoughts about what you’re going to do with the shop? I’d imagine before long, people will start asking you about it.”
While that was true on its face, it wasn’t the reason I asked the question. I needed to assess the veracity of the stories about Vic’s purchase offers. In the process, it might give me a clue as to whether they’d been plotting together.
“I want to talk it over with the kids first, but unless someone makes me an offer I can’t refuse, I’ll have a going-out-of-business sale and put it on the market. Sal Green’s already offered to help me, so at least I won’t have to do it all by myself.”
“I’ve heard Vic Allen’s been interested in the property for a while.”
“He’s made a few offers over the years. I thought they were reasonable, but Newton thought we should hold out to get more. I think he wanted to hold on to the shop until he retired. Then, if he couldn’t get someone to take it over, he’d listen to offers.”
“And now?” My open-ended interview technique was bearing more fruit than I’d have thought possible. Someday, I was going to have to buy Matt a beer as a thank-you for teaching it to me.
She dabbed at a spot on her sweatshirt with a napkin. “I’ll certainly listen to an offer if he makes one. It’ll most likely go on the market, though. That property’s too valuable to take anything less than top dollar.”
“Makes sense.” Again, on the surface, it did. Especially if she was having financial issues. That didn’t mean Shelly and Vic weren’t working together, though. I was going to have to keep a close eye on them.
I sensed I’d maxed out my time with Shelly. Each question I asked increased the odds that I’d alienate her. I didn’t want that. Instead, I asked if there was anything I could do for her before I got going.
She looked around the spotless kitchen. “Trash day’s tomorrow. If you don’t mind helping me gather it, that would let me get started on dinner sooner.”
“Consider it done.”
While she pulled bags from a compartment on the other side of the island, Shelly told me which of the trash containers she wanted me to empty.
I hadn’t planned it this way, so I chose to use my time as trash collector to look around for anything that seemed odd or out of place. Shelly was still on my suspect list, after all.
My first few stops were the bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. The only things I learned on those stops were that the Arbogast household preferred Charmin toilet paper and used generic tissues.
Such was the glamorous life of the amateur sleuth.
It was a different story in the master bath on the main floor. I came across a supply of syringes and a stout plastic box on a shelf next to the sink. Someone had written Sharps—do not recycle in black Sharpie on the container. A quick glance at one of the unused syringes confirmed that Shelly had diabetes. As I dumped the contents of a small woven trash can into the bag, a key question popped into my head.
Was Newt murdered with one of his wife’s own insulin syringes?
Chapter Eleven
Allie’s latest rule for investigating a murder: No matter how alarming a clue may be, never jump to conclusions. Upon the discovery of Shelly’s syringe cache, what I wanted to do was ride like the wind to the police station and tell Jeanette what I’d found.
Instead, I finished taking out the trash, made sure Shelly had my contact info, and told her I’d come by in a few days to check in and see what I could do for her then. I’d confirm the diabetes issue later. In a small town like Rushing Creek, it wouldn’t be hard to do. If nothing else, Maybelle would know, for sure.
For the second consecutive day, I’d gathered so much information, I spent a couple of hours during the evening updating my case notebook. By the time I tossed a Cobb Literary Agency–embossed pen to Ursi so she could play with it, I was ready for some serious stress relief.
“I’m going to hit the bag. Want to join me?”
She looked from the pen to me then back to the pen. Then she swatted it like she was Serena Williams herself. It skidded across the hardwood floor and bounced off a wall. In the blink of an eye, she had pounced on the “toy” and whacked it under my desk. Evidently, tennis was on her mind.
“Whatever. I’ll catch you later.” I was no match, nor would I ever be, when it came to the entertainment value of office supplies.
About thirty minutes into my workout, Ursi strolled into the room. She lifted her chin a fraction of an inch in greeting, then plopped down in a corner and closed her eyes. She didn’t move an inch until I finished with a right-left-right punch combination followed by a left-right-left kick combo.
After taking a couple of deep, cleansing breaths, I dropped to the floor beside her. While I wiped my face with a towel, I dribbled some water on her paw. After pinning an ear back for a moment, she licked it dry and put her paw on my leg.
“More? I guess you got as good a workout with the pen as I did with the bag, huh?”
She ignored my question, instead choosing to focus on the small pool of water I poured for her into my palm. These moments with my fur baby were pure bliss. Sure, she could be standoffish and demanding at times. Most of the time, though, she was loving and fun to be around.
If it turned out that Ursi was the closest I’d ever come to having my own child, then I could be content in the knowledge that I’d hit the pet adoption lottery. I couldn’t ask more from my feline companion.
• • •
The alarm dragged me out a deep sleep Friday morning. Normally, Ursi would wake me up sometime during the night, begging to be fed. This past night, she hadn’t done so. In fact, when I got up, she remained curled up in a ball in a corner of the bed, with a paw covering her eyes.
I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten in a good workout the night before.
My laptop was booting up when Calypso announced her arrival with her signature knock on the door.
“You know, it would make things a lot easier if you just gave me a key. That way you wouldn’t have to get up,” she said when I opened the door.
“True, but then you might catch me with some mysterious, tall, dark, and handsome stranger in a compromising position.”
“Stop it, please.” She jetted to the kitchen, her hands over her ears.
A little while later, we were settled in my office, working our way through the agency’s queries. Calypso was reading the new submissions while I was perusing those she’d forwarded to me for additional consideration.
Royalty payments had already gone out, so once we finished the query work, we could turn our attention to updating the agency website.
When I finished the last query on my list, I got up and did some deep knee bends, then some toe touches.
“Getting ready to rob a bank and then make a run for it?” Calypso thought of exercise the way she thought of the bubonic plague. The more distant she was from it, the better. It helped that she had a metabolism with one setting—ultra high. The fact that she could eat and drink anything she wanted and stay trim, without breaking a single bead of sweat, reminded me of my glory days in college when I could do the same.
Ah, the benefits of youth.
“This time of year, all I want to do is eat and sleep. Gotta do what I can to keep limber. It’s so hard to get fired up to go for a walk when it’s forty degrees and cloudy.”
“Can’t lie, Boss. When you talk that way, I cringe at the thought of turning thirty. You’re so old.”
“Well, as the saying goes, youth is wasted on the young.” I dropped back into my chair. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened my eyes wide. “Holy cats, is that a gray hair by your right ear?”
“Ha ha.” She stuck her tongue out at me. “I’ll give you a seven out of ten for execution and a one out of ten for originality.”
“All right. Don’t move.” I put one hand on her shoulder while I gave a quick pull on the strand in question.
She let out a pained shout and batted at me. Her protests died when I displayed the offender, though. It was about two inches long. And as white as new-fallen snow.
“I hate you right now.” She swiped the hair out of my hand and stuffed it in the pocket of her hoodie. “If you didn’t have good coffee, I’d sue you for intentional confliction of emotional distress.”
“Infliction.” I shook my head and let out a loud sigh. I hate it when people get the words wrong.
“Fine. Infliction. Whatever.” She glared at me, then shrugged. “Besides, it’s only one.”
“Get used to it. Once the first one shows up, there’s no going back.” I pulled at the strands of gray near my temples. My pixie cut made them less visible, but they were there, nonetheless.
I had no plans to color my hair, though. I adored my mom’s gorgeous silver locks. If I ended up looking like that one day, I’d be a happy woman.
“If you say so.” She opened a page on her tablet. “Anyway, here are a few ideas for the updated website. What do you think?”
“I like it. A lot.” I’d muddled through maintaining the website since I took the reins of the agency after my dad died. I did a mediocre job, at best. Such were the hazards of running a one-person shop.
Calypso was light-years ahead of me when it came to maintaining a web presence. Her social media work had been stellar.
She’d aced the project.
“You’re not just saying that to be nice, right?” She started chewing on a thumbnail. It was so adorable to see my tough and confident assistant visibly nervous. “I mean, I put a lot of hard work into this.”
“I can tell. Believe me, Calypso, if I didn’t like it, I’d tell you. When it comes to all things agency-related—”
“I know, excellence and kindness above all else.” She flopped down on my new love seat like a put-upon teenager. Rachel had given me the piece of furniture for Christmas. It added a touch of class to the office I hadn’t realized had been missing.
“God, your positivity can be so exhausting.”
“I live to serve.” Ignoring the dramatics, I flipped through the website pages one more time. It was stellar work.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll let you get to it.” I lifted my coffee cup to her. “Meeting adjourned.”
“Coolio.” She pulled up a new page on her tablet. “Check this out. I was doing some surfing last night and came across this.”
It was a lawsuit a company out of Indianapolis had filed against Shelly and Newt. It claimed they still owed eight thousand dollars for the renovation of their kitchen. The balance had been past due for a year at the time the suit was filed.
“Fascinating.”
“I know, right? Who spends fifty grand to remodel their kitchen in this town?”
“You’d be surprised.” I told her about my visit with Shelly the day before. “The appliances alone were easily ten thousand. Then when you add in the cabinets, countertops, and all the other bells and whistles, it adds up fast.”
Calypso let out a low whistle. “I’ll stick to my hot plate, toaster oven, and microwave from Target, thank you very much.”
I laughed. “Your dedication to minimalism is admirable, you know that?”
“It is, along with everything else about me.” She took a big slurp of coffee. “Seriously, though, what do you make of that?”
“Shelly wasn’t entirely truthful when she said her job paid for the work. If she was willing to lie about this, what else is she willing to lie about?”
“Maybe she’s embarrassed about getting sued? Or maybe the reno project went way over budget and she thinks the contractor should eat that eight grand?”
“Both seem plausible.” I wasn’t just being kind. Calypso was good at making me think. In this case, I was more inclined to think the latter situation was more likely than the former.
I turned to my computer and navigated to the online court records. The case was easy enough to find. There weren’t many Arbogasts in Indiana. It wasn’t surprising to find the matter was unresolved. Shelly didn’t strike me as someone who’d roll over if she thought she was right. What was more surprising was the half dozen unresolved actions that had been filed against Newt’s shop.
“The plot thickens.” I told Calypso what I found.
“Dang. This whole thing gets curiouser and curiouser. Thank the celestial omnipotent beings for the Internet. Otherwise, we probably wouldn’t know about any of this.”
“Indeed. And ‘celestial omnipotent beings’?”
“Yeah, well, since the Briggs case, I’ve been doing a lot of pondering about the big issues. You know, what’s our purpose in life? Do we truly have free will or is everything that happens to us a matter of destiny? I’ve decided there has to be some all-powerful being out there, providing a guiding hand every now and then. I haven’t decided which one’s my favorite, so I’m keeping my options open.”
A long, tension-releasing laugh escaped me. The young woman’s unique perspective on life was as refreshing as a cold drink of water on a hot July afternoon.
“Well done covering your bases.” I suggested the Robert Heinlein novel Job, a Comedy of Justice. I’d read the book in college during a phase when I was questioning my own belief system. At the end of that story, I’d been left with more questions than answers. I thought she might appreciate some questions the book raised.
Calypso’s phone buzzed. “Gotta roll. Picked up a lunch shift at the Pub.”
“Thanks again for the fab work on the website. I’ll touch base with you Sunday morning.”
“You got it, Boss. Of course, if you paid me more, I wouldn’t have to work my fingers to the bone serving other people food. It’s tough having my survival dependent on the kindness of others.”
“Laying it on a little heavy.” I gave her a long stare. “On the other hand, maybe there could be some kind of bonus if the revamped website launches without a hitch.”
“Deal.” Before I had a chance to move, she put her right hand in mine so we could shake on it. Then she tossed her things into her bag and rushed out of the apartment.
I couldn’t help wondering if the speedy exit was Calypso’s way of ending the conversation without giving me a chance to change my mind. In truth, I’d been planning on giving her a bonus when the new website was up, anyway. My plan had been to keep it a surprise.
So much for that now.
That would be an occasion to celebrate with all the bells and whistles, regardless.
With the work for the day finished, I edited a client’s manuscript until my phone dinged. It was a reminder for a lunch date with my honey.
Brent loved his work at the library. So much so, sometimes it felt like he was more emotionally invested in his job than his relationship with me. Then again, he was still finding his footing as library director. His predecessor had been in the job for decades and hadn’t been the most technologically savvy.
That meant a lot of hours on the job and not as many with Allie. Which was a bummer, but such was our life as two career-minded individuals. I’d made it clear to Brent that I understood his need to work long hours. I often did the same, after all.
So, after some honest discussions about where we were in our respective lives, we’d come to an agreement. We’d get creative in finding ways to spend time with each other. It wasn’t enough for me to drop by the library when he was working or for him to come hang out at the apartment on his days off. Both of those were fine but hadn’t done much on the relationship front.
We realized that in the two years we’d known each other, we hadn’t gone out on very many dates. We were now in the process of rectifying that oversight.
Today’s date was lunch at the Rib Tib, a new barbecue restaurant in town. We’d gone the week it opened. The food had been divine, but the service, not so much. We chalked it up to a new operation still finding its footing and promised each other we’d return.
That day had arrived.
My stomach started rumbling the moment I stepped outside for the stroll to the restaurant. Brent had offered to pick me up, but I insisted I’d meet him there. That way I could get some steps in, which would make room for a slice of sweet potato pie for dessert.
He was already seated at a table when I arrived. Like the true gentleman he was, he kissed me on the cheek and waited for me to get settled before he returned to his seat.
“Holy cats.” I inhaled until my lungs were filled with the savory aroma of open hickory-smoked barbeque. “It smells so good. I want one of everything.”
“Works for me. It’s been torture not being able to order anything until you got here.”
“How long have you been waiting?” I checked my phone. Did I have the time wrong?
“About three minutes.”
I snorted. “You are such a goober. Thank goodness I got here when I did so you didn’t starve to death.”
When the server arrived with two glasses of water, I requested an order of biscuits and apple butter as an appetizer.
Brent winked at me. “I think I can survive until then.”
Our server returned in a few minutes. The prompt service was a sign of good things to come. The biscuits were fabulous, soft on the inside with a brown, crunchy crust. The apple butter was a perfect blend of sweet and cinnamon-tinged savoriness.
When it was time to order lunch, I asked for a sampler platter of beef brisket, chicken, and sausage. For my side dishes, I picked mac and cheese and green beans. Brent ordered a sampler, as well. He picked potato salad and barbeque beans.
We agreed to share our sides. I saw that as a sign of a healthy relationship.
While we dined, Brent filled me in on the latest library happenings. A forkful of sauce-laden brisket was on its way to my mouth when he took a deep breath.
“Can I tell you something?”
I put the fork down and nodded. Normally when he asked that question, he was about to tell me he had to work all weekend or some other kind of bad news.
“This morning, I saw Shelly Arbogast at the library. She was with the guy who runs the Falling Leaves Inn. With everything that’s going on, I figured it was something you’d want to know about.”
Okay, not what I was expecting. “Indeed, I do. Any idea what they were up to?”
“No.” He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “What I do know is that they were tucked away in the reading nook. He had a manila folder, and they were looking at something.”
The reading nook was an area next to the children’s section. It was set up so parents could have a spot to read to their little ones without disturbing other patrons. This time of year, when school was in session, it was often deserted during the workweek. That made it an ideal spot to have a discussion without being overheard.
“Could you hear anything at all? See what they were looking at? Maybe a contract of some kind? Did Shelly sign anything?” I tried to keep the urgency out of my voice but failed. The fact that they were meeting alarmed me.
Was she moving to sell the shop property already?
“Look, I’m not good at investigating like you are. What I can tell you is that they were together about a half hour, then the guy from the inn left. Shelly left about twenty minutes later.”
“I’m sorry, Brent.” I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s excellent intel. It helps.”
“How so?” He shoveled a mouthful of potato salad into his mouth. I couldn’t help wondering if it was a move to keep him from having to answer more questions.
“It adds a piece to the puzzle about Shelly’s finances.” I told him about my conversation with Calypso. “If she was unhappy with her home life and was in financial trouble, getting rid of her husband frees her of the first problem and lets her sell the store, which takes care of the second problem.”
“Wow, that’s scary.” Brent shook his head. He wasn’t nearly the cynic that I was. It was one of the things that made him so endearing. “So, you think she really killed her husband?”
“I’m not sure, but I’d be lying if I said Shelly Arbogast’s behavior wasn’t looking more suspicious by the day.”
Chapter Twelve
My lunch with Brent had been wonderful. Even when one included the troubling report on Shelly and Victor. Despite my desire to spend the afternoon with him, I had to get back to work so I could finish edits on a manuscript that was due to a client. As lunch had gone on, he’d seemed more and more preoccupied. He probably had work issues he had to deal with, too.
Once the edited manuscript was on its way to the client, I changed into jeans and a bright yellow sweater and forgot my cares. I was getting together with my fellow members of the Fearless Foursome for a night full of good food, good friends, and good wine.
Tonight, it was Jeanette’s turn to host. She was making chili. Sloane was back from her training and was bringing an assortment of gourmet cheeses and crackers. Lori Cannon, the youngest of our group, had promised us the best corn bread we’d ever tasted. As the least skilled, culinary-wise, I was bringing a mixed vegetable plate.
And two bottles of mulled wine from Rushing Creek Winery.
“Ah, I see you are the bringer of booze tonight,” Jeanette said as she accepted my wine offering with a chuckle.
“I know how to play to my strengths.” I showed off the veggie platter. “Why put lives in danger when I can support our local merchants.”
She shook her head and pointed toward a closet. “Stash your coat in there. We’re in the dining room.”
When I joined the others, they were hovering over a glass pan containing the most gorgeous golden-brown corn bread I’d ever seen. Lori was placing small sample-sized pieces on paper plates.
“About time you got here,” Sloane said. “Waiting another minute would have been the death of me. I mean, seriously, get over here and take a whiff.”
Lori waved for me to come alongside her. “The recipe’s been in my family for four generations. My mom wouldn’t give it to me until I promised with all my heart to keep it secret forever.”
“In that case, don’t let me delay you anymore.”
While Lori served the corn bread, I poured the mulled wine into a Crock-Pot in the kitchen. By the time I returned, Sloane’s sample was already gone, and she was eyeing mine.
“Don’t even think about it.” Hearkening back to our days growing up, I licked my finger and stuck it in the middle of my sample.
“You are so mean.” Sloane swooned like she was going to pass out. “You, above all people, should know how many calories I burn on the trail. I need a lot of fuel.”
“And I need a lot of fuel getting around on my bike in this weather.” I took a bite of the corn bread. It melted in my mouth. I gobbled up the rest of my sample in seconds.
“I’ll bet you go through a lot of calories sneaking around looking for clues, too,” Lori said. “Does someone have you working the Arbogast case?”
I glanced at Jeanette. As a police officer, she didn’t approve of my meddling in affairs that were best left to professional law enforcement. As my friend, she knew nothing she could do or say would stop me once I was in investigation mode.
Lori’s boyfriend, Georgie Alonso, who was also the father of her adorable daughter Brittany, had been murdered almost eighteen months ago. I’d investigated the matter when some folks accused me of being the murderer. During that harrowing time, Lori and I bonded and had since become good friends. Sometimes, she was blunter than I cared for, though. Like now.
“Yes. I’d rather not talk about it, though. We’re here for a good time. Who’s ready for some yummy mulled wine?” I headed for the kitchen without waiting for an answer.
“Come on, Allie.” Lori followed me. “We’ve all seen death close up. One of the reasons we get together is to talk about how we’re coping with that. I can see it in your face that you’re stressed. It’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up inside.”
I kept silent while I poured the warm, spice-scented wine into four coffee mugs. Each one was embossed with the logo from a different police training event.
“Gotta side with Lori on this one, K.C.” Sloane shrugged when I shot her a death stare for using her nickname for me. “Talking to you all about my dad’s murder helped so much. Like Lori said, we’ve all been there. Thank the stars, most people haven’t, but still, we get what they don’t.”
“I can’t talk about the case.” Jeanette took a sip from the mug I handed to her. “God, this hits the spot. But there’s no law that says you can’t talk about your investigation. Besides, everyone in town knows you’re working on it.”
“They do?” While I won’t hesitate to ruffle a few feathers in the search for the truth, I didn’t make a habit of getting all showy about it, either.
“Sal Green called the station after you visited him,” Jeanette said.
“Then, he spent Wednesday evening telling everyone who’d listen about your conversation,” Sloane added.
“How do you know that?”
“Luke was there, shooting pool with friends. He’s feeling a lot better, by the way. Anyway, he told me when he got home that Sal was holding court by the bar. His ears perked up when he heard your name. I guess Sal was freaked out by your visit.”
“Allie Cobb’s reputation precedes her.” Lori lifted her mug in salute. “The Kickboxing Crusader instills fear in the hearts of men and evildoers. Now, spill it.”
With no alternative in sight other than leaving, I shrugged and told the group everything I’d learned so far. While I did so, Jeanette served the chili. I had a feeling she didn’t want to give the impression she was paying attention.
I had no doubt she was, though.
“Right now, I’ve got as many questions as answers. One of the few things I’m certain about is that Cammy didn’t do it.”
Jeanette cleared her throat. “Between the four of us, I don’t think she did it either. But until a reasonable alternative comes to the surface, she’s still our prime suspect.”
“If you don’t think Dr. Flanagan did it, who’s your money on, Allie?” Lori passed out more corn bread to go with the chili. This time, the portions were much larger, much to my delight.
“Well, you all know as well as anyone that it’s not a good idea to focus too hard on any single person early on.”
There were nods all around. Except for Jeanette, everyone seated at the table had been a murder suspect at one point or another. Fortunately for Sloane, Lori, and me, the truth eventually came out.
As it would with this case.
“For now, I’m following the money. And I gotta admit, things don’t look good for Shelly. Her interactions with Vic tell me that there’s something underhanded going on. The fact that their names keep coming up together can’t be a coincidence.”
“And you don’t believe in coincidences. At least, not when you’re investigating serious stuff like this,” Sloane said.
“But, if they did it, how’d they get the drug?” Lori crumbled up her corn bread on top of her chili. “I mean, it’s not like you can buy it on the Internet, can you?”
“Not without a prescription,” I said.
“You can buy pretty much anything online these days.” Jeanette added a dollop of sour cream to her chili. “The trick is knowing who to contact and then how to cover your tracks. After all, contacting someone on the dark web and then using the same credit card you use to pay for dinner at Marinara’s wouldn’t be very smart.”
“So, if you’re right about Shelly and Vic, how did they get the drug?” Lori’s brow was furrowed, something she did when she was studying an issue in detail.
“I wish I knew.” I spread my arms out wide. “Did they get through two locked doors and a locked cage to steal it from Cammy?”
“That sounds like a tall order.” Jeanette shrugged. “Just saying.”
“You’re right. Which is why I think the murderer got it a different way.”
“Then how do you explain the empty vial at the vet’s office?” Sloane twirled her spoon in her bowl.
“I can’t. Yet.” I looked at my cop friend. “Care to comment? Maybe a hint or two?”
Jeanette let out a long sigh as she shook her head. “One of these days, I’ll regret giving in to you so easily. There were no signs of forced entry at the vet clinic. All the employees swear they didn’t know anything was missing until Matt and Gabe showed up.”
“Sounds like an inside job to me,” Sloane said.
All gazes turned in my direction. Yes, the evidence was damning. But it was still only circumstantial. The evidentiary foundation the police had so far wouldn’t hold up a house of cards.
“Fine.” I straightened up in my chair. “How does the safe factor in? Where’d it come from? Is there anything connecting it with Cammy?”
Lori and Sloane shrugged as their heads turned toward Jeanette. God love them. They weren’t going to let our police officer off the hook by withholding information from me.
“I can tell you that the coroner estimates the time of death between nine Friday night and three Saturday morning. Based on the condition of the deceased, we believe he was kept inside the safe. It was stored indoors most if not all of the weekend. Beyond that, we’re pursuing a number of avenues of investigation.” She focused her gaze on her bowl of chili.
“I’ve heard that one before.” Lori snorted as she got up to refill her mug. “All that means is that you don’t know where it came from. Which means Allie might be right. It might have nothing to do with Dr. Flanagan.”
I slid a spoonful of the spicy chili into my mouth. I was more than happy to let Lori take the lead on this line of questioning.
“You’re right on both points, Lori. The serial number being removed from the safe has made it a whole lot tougher to establish ownership.”
“That also must mean the murderer planned the whole thing.” Lori beamed. “I mean, who would go to the trouble of getting rid of a serial number from something like that?”
“Score another one for the kid.” Sloane put out her hand for a high five. “Can’t you contact the manufacturer?”
“I can answer that one.” I sensed Jeanette was getting tired of fielding questions. While they didn’t mean it, the barrage of queries was starting to make it sound like the police didn’t know what they were doing. That wasn’t the case at all.
“The safe’s manufacturer sells to a bunch of retailers. You can get one just like it at any number of stores that sell hunting equipment, both online and brick and mortar.”
“So, tracking down model numbers and figuring out where they were shipped and then tying that to customers who bought them . . .” Sloane shook her head.
My bestie’s observation hung over us like a gray cloud. It didn’t take Veronica Mars to figure out that connecting those dots would take a while. Rushing Creek’s police department was like the town itself—small. It had a total of seven officers plus a civilian administrative assistant. Much of that dot connecting fell on my cop friend’s shoulders.
“I think you all can see why it would be a lot more straightforward for it to turn out that Dr. Flanagan is the murderer.” Jeanette took a drink. “Not that I’m angling for that. I want the real killer caught just as much as Allie does.”
“Which is why,” I said as I got to my feet, “the alternative is to eliminate suspects by confirming their alibis.”
Jeanette put up her hands. “And I will not comment on who we’ve interviewed, so don’t even bother asking.”
“Then can you tell us the last time Mr. Arbogast was seen?” Sloane gathered the mugs to refill them. “That ended up being a key fact with my dad.”
“Downtown CCTV shows him closing for the day a few minutes after six Friday night. Shelly said he didn’t come home. Evidently, that wasn’t unusual, so Shelly didn’t think much of it. When she got up Saturday morning, there was a message from Newt saying he’d had one too many at the club and was going to sleep there.”
“What about your suspects, Allie,” Lori asked. “Do they have alibis?”
I refilled my mug and inhaled the aroma of the mulled wine. The scent calmed me. Which was good, because the alibi issue was proving to be every bit as problematic as the empty xylazine vial.
“Cammy doesn’t. She said she was at home Friday night. Then she went home when she closed on Saturday and didn’t leave the house again until Monday morning.”
“Oof.” Sloane winced. Then she snapped her fingers. “What about getting her cell phone data? You could track her movements that way, right?”
Jeanette shook her head. “You’ve been reading too many of Allie’s client’s thrillers. We’d need a court order to get that information. We don’t have enough probable cause to do that right now. There’s another issue, though.”
“And that is?” Lori’s breathless tone made me want to laugh out loud, despite the awful topic of conversation.
“She could have left her phone at home, committed the murder, and returned home, and as far as the cell phone data would show, it would look like she’d never left the house.”
“Which is exactly what happened. She never left her house.” I rapped on the tabletop with my knuckles, signaling the matter was closed, and turned the conversation to more pleasant things, like Sloane’s preparations for the upcoming trail-running season.
The rest of the evening, we gossiped, told stories, and laughed our heads off. The four of us were having a perfect girls’ night in. And that’s the way we wanted it. Even though three of us were single, there was no pressure to talk about dating-related issues. Since Lori was the only one among us who was a mother, she regaled us with tales of the challenges of raising a strong-willed seven-year-old who considered her bedroom walls the perfect art canvas.
By the time we called it a night, my cheeks ached from laughing so much and my heart was light from the time spent with great friends.
As I switched on my bike’s headlight, a troubling thought came to mind, though.
A murderer was still on the loose.
I needed to make progress with the investigation before the trail got cold. I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen if I didn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
A weather front came through during the night and left the area covered in four inches of sparkling white snow. The temperature had taken a dive, too, so by the time my phone’s ringtone woke me from a snuggly slumber, it was all of twelve degrees outside.
The number on the screen belonged to my sister Rachel. She knew I liked to sleep in on Saturdays. It must have been important if she was going to call at seven a.m.
“Sorry to bug you so early,” Rachel said after I mumbled a sleepy hello. “I was supposed to have the day off, but one of my managers called in sick. The kids want to go sledding. Matt’s tied up with the investigation and Luke’s out on a snowplow. Is there any way you could take them? You’d be the greatest aunt ever.”
The last time I’d gone sledding with my niece Theresa and my nephew Tristan, we’d spent an entire day in Rolling Hills State Park. It had taken me an hour in a steaming hot bathtub to warm back up and two days to work out the kinks, bumps, and bruises accumulated during the hours of trudging up the sledding hill and barreling at breakneck speed right back down it.
Over and over and over again.
It had been one of the best days of my life.
“Do you need me to come to your place?” There was no way I was going to pass on a chance for more outdoor fun with the twins. Even if it meant I’d probably be sore until Tuesday.
“We’ll come to you. It’s the least I can do in return for you bailing me out. Just promise me you’ll be careful with the car, okay?”
“I’ll treat it like it was my own.”
We chatted for a few more minutes and then Rachel had to get going. As I went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, I chuckled. My sister was more than willing to trust me with her kids yet was worried I’d crash her beloved Chevy SUV.
To be fair, though, on more than a few occasions I’d admitted in her presence my aversion to driving in snow. So, all things considered, I really couldn’t blame her for the admonishment. What made me smile was the acknowledgment at how far our relationship had come.
After years of estrangement when we’d gone months without talking to each other, now we were comfortable enough to ask each other for favors at the drop of a hat. And say yes to the request every bit as quickly.
While the coffee brewed, I dug my snow gear out of the closet. Long johns, snow pants, heavy coat, wool socks, snow boots, gloves, a hat, and a scarf made up the ensemble. At age seven, the twins had boundless energy. A sledding trip wasn’t going to be a simple matter of going up and down the hill a half dozen times and coming home. No, T and T would stay out until dark if I let them. This would be a three-hour excursion, minimum. Thus, the need to bundle up as if we were making a trek across the Arctic Circle.
• • •
When we reached the park, I said goodbye to a thermos of hot coffee in the SUV’s drink holder and wrestled the kids out of the backseat. The pathway from the parking lot to the top of Rooster Tail Hill, the premier sledding location in the park, was already smushed down to a white, hardpacked trail. We were far from the only hardy souls in for some outdoor winter sport.
The worn-down path was a good sign. That meant the snow on the sledding hill would already be compacted. Without having to go through the effort of creating lanes for the kids’ saucer sleds, we’d be able to ride the snow at top speed right from the start. That would make for happy kiddos. Which made for a happy aunt.
After a short walk, we rounded a bend and the trail opened to reveal a dozen other people enjoying the conditions.
“Last one down the hill’s a rotten egg,” Theresa shouted as she sprinted toward a prime spot to launch herself down the hill.
Tristan dashed after her. Between laughs he threatened his sister with a snowball fight when they reached the bottom of the run.
Content with my future status as the rotten egg for the day, I took a moment to soak in the scene. The plateau before me extended a hundred feet before dropping off at a forty-five-degree angle. Snow-covered pines surrounded the area on three sides, creating a semicircular space a few hundred feet across. During the summer, the area was a field of wildflowers. Now, it was the best spot in the county to go sledding.
My breath crystallized as I strolled to the edge of the hill. A quarter mile away, at the end of their initial runs, Theresa and Tristan were lobbing chunks of snow back and forth at each other. Their matching orange stocking caps bobbed and weaved as they tried to avoid getting a face full of snow. After a minute, they abandoned their battle and began the long trek to the top of the hill.
I slipped warming packs into boots and gloves. It was a good way to ward off the cold. Which was going to come in handy because it would be a while before one of the twins was ready for a break. Then I’d take turns with them flying down the hill, which took only seconds, and hiking back up, which took a lot longer.
After a couple of hours of nonstop activity, Tristan plopped down at my feet. He was breathing heavy, and his cheeks and nose were rosy in color. He was smiling from ear to ear, though.
I choked back a laugh when he wiped away a cold-induced snot bubble with his mitten. And then wiped the mitten across the front of his coat. I made a mental note to suggest to Rachel that the young ones’ outerwear should go through the laundry, especially Tristan’s.
Theresa, covered from head to toe in a new layer of snow, trudged up to me and gave me a hug.
“I’m cold, Auntie A. Can we go see the horses?” she said.
“Yeah.” Tristan scrambled to his feet. “Take us to the horse barn. Pretty please?”
This time I laughed out loud. They were so adorable, there was no way I could say no to them.
“Sure. Since you said please.” I took them each by the hand and we marched back to the car, swinging our arms in unison as we sang a song about snow and horses that we made up as we went along.
The trip to the horse barn was a ten-minute drive, so by the time we arrived, I’d slugged down a good portion of the coffee straight from the thermos. Thanks to the magic of heated seats, we were all nice and toasty. I knew many things about the kids. One was that while they loved playing in the snow, if they got too cold, they got cranky. Warming them up meant we’d have a pleasant time visiting the horses.
The barn, a huge wooden structure with a green tin roof, was home to a dozen horses year-round. During the warmer months, that number doubled as families and groups went on trail rides throughout the park. During September and October, horse-drawn hayrides were a popular outing.
Once we were in the barn, Tristan dashed to a stall on the left to see his favorite horse, a handsome chestnut named Aidan. Meanwhile, Theresa skipped to a stall to the right to say hi to Shea, a dapple-gray mare.
The kids had established a rapport with the animals, so they were safe. Provided they didn’t do anything foolish, which they wouldn’t. They were respectful. In turn, the gorgeous creatures were unfailingly gentle with the kids.
Rachel and Matt, despite their marital problems, were doing a bang-up job raising their children.
I, on the other hand, had a fear of horses, so I kept a sizeable distance. It was a completely irrational emotion, but ever since a horseback ride when I was young went awry, the animals intimidated me.
The harrowing memory of eight-year-old Allie hanging on for dear life because the horse she was on got spooked and vaulted into an all-out gallop for what seemed like hours caused a visceral reaction in me all the way into adulthood. In reality, the nightmare lasted only minutes, but between the terror it seared into me and my diminutive size compared to the horses, I had no interest in getting close to them.
As I was reliving the memory, the door to the groomer’s office opened with the screech of hinges in need of some serious lubrication.
Sal emerged, and after a momentary frown, smiled and waved.
I strolled toward the man.
“Fancy seeing you here on such a snowy morning.”
“I had some paperwork at the office to finish. When I got done, I thought I’d drop by to see the horses. I like to check on them when the weather’s cold.” He pulled a couple of carrots out of his coat pocket. “Do you mind if I let the kids feed these to the horses?”
“Not at all.” I introduced them to Sal.
The kiddos’ eyes went wide when I told them he worked at the park. They cheered and accepted the carrots as if they were the best Christmas gifts ever.
“You are officially a legend to them. Thank you.”
He waved the compliment away. “I love horses. When I was younger, I had one of my own. Shoot, I spent a few years working right in this barn.”
“What did you do?” Tristan had returned to my side, no doubt hoping to get another treat for Aidan. At the tender age of seven, he was already adept at playing the angles.
“I was an assistant groomer. That was a fancy name for gofer. I cleaned out the stalls, helped feed and water the horses, and brushed them down when they came back from a ride.”
He enthralled the young ones with stories from his days working with the horses. The tales were mundane by adult standards, but he made them sound like grand adventures to Tristan and Theresa.
“Did you ever fight horse rustlers,” Tristan asked.
“Wherever did you get such an idea in your head?” My instinct was to laugh at such an outlandish idea in twenty-first-century Indiana. I held that off by focusing on the source of his question.
“Dad lets us watch The Lone Ranger when we’re at his house.” Tristan pointed toward the ceiling. “Hi-ho, Silver. Away!”
“That’s very good, young man,” Sal said as he tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a chuckle. “I never had to do battle with any outlaws, thank goodness. Sometimes I’d help the vet when he came to check on a horse that was sick, though.”
“You were a horse nurse?” Theresa crinkled up her nose when Tristan shot her a nasty look. “People nurses help doctors. Since Mr. Sal helped the vet, that makes him a horse nurse.”
She put her hands on her hips and nodded to indicate the matter was closed. In that moment, she looked like a pint-sized copy of Rachel.
“Not quite. But I did learn a lot about horses and how to take care of them.” He strolled over to Shea and offered her a sugar cube. She slurped it right off the palm of his hand. “That’s why I like to come down here. A lot of good memories. Especially since I have to be at the church this afternoon.”
“Right. I’m spending the days with the kids, so we won’t be able to make it.” Newt’s funeral was being held this afternoon. With the sudden change of plans, it had slipped my mind.
“I get it. That’s no place for little ones.”
“Speaking of Newt, do you remember the last time you saw him?” I forced a smile. “We crossed paths at the bank a couple of weeks ago. He held the door open for me when he was coming in and I was leaving. I’ll always remember the way he smiled and tipped his hat to me.”
Preying on a man’s emotions on the day his friend was being buried was underhanded. I needed information, though. Besides, if the memory made him smile, it was a good thing, right?
“It was a week ago, Friday. We had some gun club business to go over, so I stopped by the shop midafternoon. We talked about getting together after he closed for the day.” He swallowed. “Now we’re never going to get the chance.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay. Just a reminder not to take things for granted. You never know when you’ll come to regret a decision that seems like it’s no big deal at the time.”
“Believe me, I understand.” I gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Not being at my dad’s bedside when he died would haunt me to my own last breath.
Sal needed to get ready for the funeral, so he said his goodbyes and left me with my thoughts as the kids ran back and forth between the horses.
So, he’d chatted with Newt within twelve hours of when the man was murdered. It was possible he was the last person to see the victim alive.
I snapped my fingers. With Vic Allen working right next door, it would have been easy for him to pop over for a quick chat with Newt. What if he’d done exactly that, sometime after Sal’s visit? He probably knew everything there was to know about the property.
Like how to get in and get back out without being noticed.
Images of a conversation between the two men came into my head. Perhaps Vic had run out of patience and went there to make one last offer to buy the property. And was prepared to take things into his own hands if Newt turned the offer down.
Was it possible? Definitely. Was it plausible? Maybe.
One thing that would help me figure that out was more digging. And I knew the perfect place to start.
Chapter Fourteen
Creekside Chocolates, purveyor of some of the finest sweets in the Midwest, had recently been named a must-see destination in Southern Indiana. I’d known that from the first time I’d walked through its doorway. The honor bestowed upon it by an influential travel website meant everyone knew it now. That had made my friend Diane Stapleton a busy woman year-round, even on a cold, snowy February afternoon.
A blanket of warm air enveloped me as I followed the kids into the shop. Diane waved at us from behind the service counter. The latest music from the jazz artist Thundercat emanated from unseen speakers as we shrugged out of our coats and hats.
The kids hung their coats on the backs of chairs at a table by the front bay window, then skipped to the display counter.
“Look out, Diane. Those two monsters have been out sledding. They’ll want one of everything.” I sidled up behind them, grinning at their wide-eyed reflections in the counter’s glass.
“Works for me.” She turned her attention from a cup of coffee she was brewing for a customer to the little ones. “Remember, kids, your Aunt Allie loves you and wants you to be happy. You know what that means, right?”
“Yes,” they shouted in unison as they bounced up and down on their toes.
While we waited our turn, I considered the information Sal had shared. Jeanette hadn’t mentioned the security cameras catching any customers entering or leaving the store Friday afternoon. If the murderer met Newt at the store sometime after Sal left, it would be easy enough to verify what the man had told me. If the back entrance has been used, not so much.
I made a note in my phone to sweet-talk Jeanette into taking a second look at the security video from Friday afternoon. Or better yet, let me do it. I’d done it once before, after all. And it had led to the capture of a murderer.
As we took a step closer to our turn at the counter, another thought crossed my mind.
What if Sal was lying?
I tried to wrap my head around the idea. What did he have to lie about? I didn’t know him well enough to answer that question. Another note went into my phone to follow up on that issue.
Unless he himself had something to hide.
The kids were each allowed a hot chocolate and a chocolate chip cookie. While they enjoyed their treats, I sipped a Jamaican blend coffee and hung out with Diane. In between customers, I asked her about my suspects.
“Shelly’s my website administrator. Whenever Newt came up, she’d shrug, like ‘Whatever, I’m over the dude,’ and change the subject.”
“Not exactly motive for murder, is it?” I knew a few couples who had been together for decades and seemed to stay together because that was the path of least resistance. It was sad. Then again, I was hardly a shining example of blissful matrimony.
Diane shook her head as she rang up a sale. When the customer stepped away, she tapped her finger on the counter.
“Now, Vic’s another matter. Buys a lot from me for the inn. A nice guy.” She lowered her voice. “Most of the time.”
I stepped closer to her. “Meaning?”
“Let’s just say when he doesn’t get exactly what he wants, he can be a total jerk. He and I have had a few disagreements on pricing of some products for his gift shop. He wasn’t happy when I didn’t immediately cave to his demands and didn’t hesitate to raise his voice. It’s all good now, but still.”
Interesting. The man didn’t like to take no for an answer. And was also a bit of a hothead. His profile sure fit the bill of a murderer.
“Did you work last Friday? Any chance you saw either Newt, Sal, or Vic?” I shared my conundrum surrounding the issue of nailing down Newt’s time of death and who may have been the last one to see him alive.
She shook her head. “I was here all day. Didn’t see any of them. I didn’t do any shopping, though, so just because I didn’t see them doesn’t mean they weren’t around.”
Diane needed to help a customer choose from a selection of truffles, so I made my way back to the kiddos. They were debating who had the longest sledding run. When they couldn’t come to an agreement, Theresa asked me for a ruling.
I knew this game well and was not going to be manipulated into choosing one over the other. If I did that, there would be endless rivers of tears and sorrowful wailing from whoever I didn’t choose.
“You were both magnificent taming the hill. What’s most important to me, though, is that I’m lucky I get to spend the day with you two. I think I’m the biggest winner.” I gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the top of the head.
Their brows creased in unison, evidently unhappy that I didn’t declare a victor, but unable to disregard the compliment at the same time. Then, they both hugged me back and told me they loved me.
If only solving real-life mysteries, like who murdered Newt, could be resolved so easily.
When the kids were finished with their snacks, we gave Diane hugs and made our way back to my apartment. I was ready for a nap, but the young ones were hungry, so I made them grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken noodle soup. Not exactly a gourmet meal, but they inhaled it with the gusto of lumberjacks after a day in the forest.
When lunch was finished, I got them settled under a pile of blankets and popped in a Scooby-Doo DVD. It wasn’t until they were halfway through the first episode that it hit me. Even in my entertainment choices, I couldn’t get away from solving mysteries.
They rooted for Scooby, Shaggy, and the rest of the gang to catch the monster, who, big surprise, turned out to be merely a bad guy in a mask. Meanwhile, I jotted down thoughts from my conversations with Sal and Diane. By the time the DVD ended, I was left with one inescapable conclusion.
There were still too many puzzle pieces out of place. It was going to take more work before a coherent picture started to form.
Assuming it was true that Newt was last seen midafternoon on Friday, that left a window potentially as big as twelve hours for the perp to commit the murder. I didn’t relish the thought, but I needed to find out, specifically, what my suspects were doing during that period.
With the kids around, I didn’t have the level of concentration I preferred for manuscript editing, so I decided to do some sleuthing from my office.
According to their website, the Bouchards’ art gallery was open on Fridays until six. There was no time like the present for a chat. I dialed their number.
When a woman answered and introduced herself as Elise, I froze. What, exactly, was I going to ask that wouldn’t make me sound like a buffoon? Then it came to me.
“Hi. I was in your gallery last Friday afternoon. I’ve lost a pair of black leather gloves and think it was sometime around then. Did anyone turn them in, by chance?”
I crossed my fingers. It sounded plausible. And I promised to say an extra Hail Mary at church tomorrow as penance for lying.
“I don’t believe so, but I’ll check.”
The wait was way longer than I wanted. Since no gloves would be found there, I hated myself for sending the woman on a wild-goose chase. I added an Our Father to my penance.
“I’m sorry. There’s nothing in our lost and found.” The voice on the other end of the call was a kind one. There was no doubt she’d made a real attempt to look for the gloves.
“Okay.” I tried to sound disappointed. “Is there any way you can check with whoever was working then? The gloves were a gift, you see.”
“It was just my husband, Henri, and me, I’m afraid. Perhaps you lost them on the sidewalk out front or at another store?”
Bingo. Everything I needed in a single answer. Both Bouchards were there all day. There was no need to string the poor woman along any further.
“I’m sure you’re right. Thank you for looking. I do love your gallery and promise to write a five-star review to show my appreciation.”
The second I ended the call, I posted the promised review. I really did adore their gallery. The prices were out of my league, unfortunately. Someday, maybe.
Once that was done, I created a new chart in my notebook to map out who was where and at what time. If I could continue to narrow the size of the window in which the murder must have taken place, I’d be able to eliminate suspects in the process.
That was the hope, at least.
I popped out to check on the twins. They were konked out on the couch. God love them, they’d played so hard and been so good while I chatted with Diane. While I still had no desire to become a parent, days like this were timely reminders how fortunate I was to be an aunt to two precious children.
Since they were fast asleep, I moved to step two in Operation Phone Call. I was going to have to finesse this one a lot more. It wasn’t only because the Falling Leaves Inn was much larger and had way more employees than the art gallery. It was because I wasn’t sure how to ask if the boss had been around on the day in question without arousing suspicion.
Then the answer came to me. My friend Connie Briggs worked there.
I had her on speed dial. In seconds, she answered.
“It’s great to hear from you, Allie. How have you been?”
“No complaints. You getting through this dreary weather okay?”
Connie’s daughter had been missing for twenty years. When the girl’s body was discovered the previous August, she’d asked me to figure out who the murderer was. I’d been successful, but the holidays had been rough on Connie. It was the first time she’d had to face the fact that her daughter was deceased and never coming home.
When reporters stopped coming around, Connie had been left with a small circle of friends. I was one of the group. We had a simple goal. Make sure the woman’s grief didn’t overwhelm her.
She’d amazed us all. Sure, some days had been tougher than others, but the woman’s inner strength and resilience had shined through. People in town noticed, including Vic. He offered her a job as head of housekeeping, which was a step above her previous job.
Now, I needed to take advantage of Connie’s employment status. She thought the world of Vic, so I was going to have to be careful. I genuinely cared about my friendship with Connie and didn’t want to upset her by asking pointed questions about her boss.
Well, some things couldn’t be avoided.
“The past couple of weeks have been tough. Not gonna lie about that. Taking things one day at a time. So, what’s up?”
“I could use your help.” I took a deep breath. “I’m investigating Newt Arbogast’s murder. Did you work last Friday? If so, do you remember seeing Vic?”
There was silence on the line for a moment. Just as I was thinking the call had been dropped, she sneezed.
“Sorry about that. Been doing a lot of dusting today. Anyway, I remember seeing him in the dining room during breakfast hours. He told one of the servers he was doing a quality check on the buffet, but we all know he likes the free food.”
So maybe Connie didn’t consider Vic her white knight, like I’d assumed. Still, he was her boss, and I didn’t want to get her in trouble.
“Do you remember what time that was?”
“Why? Oh my god, you don’t think he’s the murderer, do you?”
“I don’t know. Right now, all I’m trying to do is get a handle on where some people who knew Newt were last weekend.”
“Well, the breakfast buffet closes at eleven. I didn’t see him after that. Let me ask around and get back to you. Would that be okay?”
“More than okay, Connie. I can’t thank you enough.”
She laughed. “After all you did for my family, it’s the least I can do. By the way, I got a letter from someone who wants to write a book about Val’s disappearance and . . . everything else. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Poor Connie. She was still having difficulty saying out loud that her daughter had been murdered. I felt for her. At least in this instance, I could be of real help.
“I think you should be careful. There’s always an audience for true crime stories. The most important things to me are to make sure your interests are looked after and that the story does Valerie and you justice. I’d be happy to look over the letter and research the author.”
“That would be awesome. Thank you.” The relief in Connie’s voice brought me to the edge of tears. She asked so little of others. It was the least I could do.
Once the call was over, I leaned back in my chair and blew out a long breath. I’d never asked a favor like that from someone I’d helped with a murder investigation. To be honest, it felt a little slimy. I investigated murders to help people. I had no interest in having folks think they owed me for my efforts. I promised myself I’d refrain from doing that ever again.
I also decided I needed a face-to-face with Vic Allen. With all the smoke around him, there had to be some fire.
Chapter Fifteen
Rachel knocked on my door Saturday evening laden with carryout from the Pub. The aroma wafting from the containers made my stomach growl loud enough that Ursi gave me a long, disapproving stare.
“Who’s ready for dinner?” She held out her arms wide to take Theresa and Tristan into a tight hug.
She barely had time to hand dinner off to me before the kids started peppering her with reports from their day. While I set the table, they barraged her with stories that ping-ponged between sledding, Scooby-Doo, and chocolate. God love my sister, Rachel listened like they were giving her detailed directions to the lost continent of Atlantis.
“All right, you two. Why don’t you go wash your hands and give your mom a chance to catch her breath before dinner?”
I guided them toward the kitchen sink. Once the water was running, I gave my sister a look from head to toe. Her long blond hair was pulled up into a messy topknot. There were dark circles under her eyes and her shoulders were slumped.
“You look beat. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. Now, two of my managers are down with the flu. With Matt busy working on this Arbogast case, he can’t take up the slack. And with Mom fighting a cold, I don’t want to dump the kids on her.” She shook her head. “Sorry for being whiny.”
“You’re not being whiny. You’re a single mom of twins who also owns two busy restaurants. It’s no surprise your inkwell’s running dry.”
“What’s an inkwell,” Theresa asked as we got settled at the table.
While Rachel opened the dinner containers, I explained the writing tool of days gone by.
“That’s what the silver thing on the shelf in your office is, isn’t it?” My niece sat up straighter, pleased with herself for making the connection.
“That’s right. That’s also a good example of deductive reasoning, too. Agatha Christie would be proud of you.”
“Whoa. That’s big-time, T. Way to go.” Tristan gave his sister a fist bump. They were both aware how big a fan I was of the Queen of Mystery.
“Time to eat, kiddos. Your mama’s famished.” Rachel opened her container to reveal a baked fish fillet, mixed vegetables, and seasoned potatoes. Even under a lot of stress, she ate right.
Which was something I often failed to do. My sister was aware of my less healthful dining preferences, as evidenced by the cheeseburger and fries she ordered for me. It did have lettuce, onions, and tomatoes on it, so I was getting some veggies.
The kids were ecstatic with their dinners of chicken strips, applesauce, and carrots. I had to tip my hat to Rachel. Even on a hectic day, she still made sure her children had something healthy with their meals.
I would have probably split a frozen pizza with them.
After dinner, I got the kids busy working on puzzles in my office so Rachel could unwind for a bit before they went home. She plopped down on the couch and closed her eyes.
“You were a lifesaver today. I owe you one.”
“My pleasure. It was a good day.” I sat in the chair catty-corner from the couch. “Though I could use your help with a little something.”
“Right now, I would give you one of my kidneys. What is it?”
“Nothing that drastic. Though, I’ll keep that in mind if the need arises.” I leaned forward, planting my elbows on my knees. I wanted to keep my voice low for the next part so the kids wouldn’t overhear.
“I’m sure you’ve heard I’m investigating Newt Arbogast’s murder. You know all the businesspeople in town. I was wondering if I could tap into that knowledge storehouse.”
“If it’ll get the case solved faster and Matt back to normal hours, fire away.”
That was easier than I’d anticipated. Even though Rachel and Matt were divorced, they worked hard at maintaining as good a relationship as possible. Both for the sake of the kids and their own mental health.
Because of that, Rachel gave her ex-husband the benefit of the doubt on police matters. Which meant she looked at my murder investigations with a healthy serving of skepticism. It wasn’t that she didn’t think I could do the work. I’d proven numerous times that wasn’t the case. It was more that she believed police work should be left to the professionals.
After I solved my most recent case, she shared with me one of her greatest parental fears. She worried that, as the kids got older, they’d be subjected to teasing and worse because their dad’s police department couldn’t solve a murder investigation without outside help.
While I thought her concern was overblown, I also understood that growing up in the twenty-first century wasn’t all wine and roses. And growing up as the child of Rushing Creek’s top law enforcer was likely going to include some minefields. Theresa and Tristan were going to have to learn how to navigate those difficult moments.
At the end of the day, all I could do was remind her that I didn’t go looking for murders to solve. When someone asked for my help, that’s when I sprang to action.
So, here I was. Asking my sister for help to solve a murder, which she preferred I not do, but which, if successful, would help the father of her children return to a more normal routine.
Yes, life was full of compromises. Working together to achieve a common goal seemed like a decent middle ground, though. I opened my case notebook.
“What can you tell me about Elise and Henri Bouchard?” While Shelly and Vic were my prime suspects, I didn’t want to lose sight of Newt’s neighbors.
“Nice folks. Good corporate citizens. I used to display some of their art at the Pub. Elise is an absolute sweetheart. Love her to death. Between the two, I think she’s the far more gifted artist. Henri . . .” She shrugged.
“Go on. You never know what might be important. I promise to keep this between the two of us.” Rachel didn’t like to badmouth people. The hesitation must have meant something bad.
“Henri can be an acquired taste. He’s very charming and easy on the eyes, I might add.” She chuckled. “But he has this intense streak. It’s not that he’s a hothead. It’s that he’s more ultra-competitive than anything else.”
“I’m sure it’s tough to make a living in the art world.” I shifted to a new topic. “Have you heard anything about marriage problems?”
“A while back there was some talk about Henri and Shelly having a fling. I thought it was stupid. I mean, Newt totally put the kibosh on their home studio plans. I can’t see them hooking up after that.”
Hmm. Competitive could be translated as doesn’t like to lose. But what if the story about Elise offering the espresso machine as a peace offering was true and that turned into something more? Setting aside the rumor of Henri and Shelly having an affair, how would Henri handle losing the home studio, then his wife, to Newt? That was some solid motive for Henri wanting to do away with his neighbor. He’d be able to keep his affair with Shelly quiet and get his studio in the end.
“What’s your take on Shelly?” I told her about the allegations that she’d gotten fed up with Newt’s refusal to sell the store.
“It’s common knowledge they grew apart over the years. But murdering Newt? If she wanted out, why not file for divorce, get the property appraised and demand half the value?”
“With Newt dead she gets everything. Plus, someone saw her and Victor Allen talking. Maybe discussing a proposal to buy the shop.”
Rachel’s face puckered up like she’d just bit into something sour. “I wouldn’t put anything past Allen. The way he’s always trying to poach my best staff, he’s capable of anything.”
The comment was revealing. As a member of the Rushing Creek Chamber of Commerce, my sister went to great lengths to get along with all her fellow business owners. She believed in the big picture that if the businesses worked together, even if they were competitors, everyone prospered. For her to speak ill of Vic, even in confidence to me, confirmed the picture of the man forming in my head.
It wasn’t flattering.
“What do you think about Vic and Shelly working together to get rid of Newt?”
“If we’re just talking hypothetical situations, I could see it. Especially if he could arrange it so that Shelly takes the fall if things go south.”
“Man, you really don’t like the guy, do you?”
“No.” She pulled out the topknot and ran her fingers through her hair. Something was on her mind.
“It’s not just a matter of my restaurants competing with the dining room at the inn. A while back, this was when I was going through the divorce, Vic made a move on me. An aggressive one. It wasn’t until I dislocated his thumb defending myself that he backed off.”
I sat back, stunned into silence. For as long as I could remember, Rachel was the definition of “in control.” Even when her marriage was crumbling around her, she held herself together. If she did have weak moments, she kept them behind closed doors.
Between her brains, her beauty, and her drive to succeed, she was formidable in every sense of the word. It surprised me that Rachel hadn’t hurt Vic worse. There was no doubt in my mind she could have.
And yet she chose to keep the episode under wraps. No doubt to avoid scandal and the inevitable choosing of sides that occurred in a small town when there was a dispute.
“What a slimeball. I hope you didn’t let him get away with it.” More than ever, I wanted Vic to be the murderer so I could bust him.
“He came to see me the next day. He apologized and said he’d had too much to drink and had been under a lot of pressure at work and thought I had been sending him signals that I was interested.” She rolled her eyes. “Classic redirection and victim blaming.”
“What did you say?” My sister’s way of dealing with problems fascinated me. If I would have been in Rachel’s shoes, I’d have filed a police report. Then again, my business wasn’t dependent on the goodwill of the community like hers was.
“Told him I took pictures of the tear in my blouse and the bruises he caused and wrote a detailed memo about the whole thing. I went on to let him know that if I heard of him ever touching a woman inappropriately, I’d go to the police with my story. And to the Beacon right after that. Whenever he sees me now, he keeps his distance and speaks to me like I’m a member of the Royal Family.”
I laughed, not at Rachel, but in celebration of her triumphant move.
“You are amazing. Brava.”
She grinned. “It was all a bluff. There were no bruises, and I hadn’t written anything down. I made it all up on the spot. That’s between you and me. Got it?”
“Indeed. And I thought I was the devious one in the family.” Especially since I’d broken a few laws while pursuing the truth during past investigations. There was no need to dwell on that now, though.
“We all have our secrets, Allie. I have a few stories I could tell you that would make Mom run to another room with her hands over her ears.”
“Ooh, do tell.” My sister and I had spent years when we barely talked to each other. This evening was proving to be more enjoyable than I would have imagined. Rachel and I were growing closer all the time. It made me happy. I hoped she shared the feeling.
She glanced at her watch. “Another time. I need to get the kiddos home and in the tub.”
On their way out the door, Rachel gave me a long hug.
“Be careful out there. If you’re right, whoever did this is smart and knows you’re coming after them. And do not, under any circumstances, get within shouting distance of Vic Allen. He’s like a cobra. I don’t want you getting bitten.”
I promised to keep my distance. Whether I’d stick to that promise was another matter. Her concern was warranted, though, and left me with a question. In my past investigations, I’d always managed to outfox my adversaries and bring them to justice.
Could I do it again, or was this the time that, like Holmes, I’d come up short against my personal version of Moriarity.
Chapter Sixteen
Allie’s latest rule about conducting a murder investigation: At some point during the investigation, it’s helpful to spend the day with the twins. It’s guaranteed that I’ll have a great time with them and sleep like a baby that night.
And so it was that I met Mom at church feeling like I’d landed one of my authors a six-figure book contract. My mind was clear, my mood was good, and my body was free of any aches and pains that often came with the February blahs.
I took a seat next to my mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek as I hugged her.
“Aren’t you the chipper one this morning.” She gave me an appraising look, as if I were one of her patients. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s all good. I’d forgotten how well I sleep after spending the day with the twins.” We had a few minutes until Mass was to begin, so I told her about my adventures with the young ones.
Mom laughed out loud when I told her about their antics in the horse barn. She was in the middle of a story about Luke asking Sal if he could borrow one of the park’s horses for a senior prank when the church’s pipe organ blared to life.
We rose to our feet as Mass began. While I was bummed that I didn’t get to hear the end of the story, someone caught my attention. Eugene “Junior” McCormick, a classmate from high school, was with his family a few rows ahead of us.
I mouthed the words to the opening hymn as I tried to figure out why the sight of him was suddenly so important. Then it hit me.
Junior was a manager at the farm supply store in nearby Columbus. I’d been in that store with Luke a few times. One time, while my brother had chatted endlessly with a friend about tools, I wandered around the store to keep myself entertained. Among other things I’d looked at were guns.
And more relevant to my current needs, gun safes.
When Mass was over, I told Mom I wanted to say hi to an old friend and made my way to Junior. The clouds had finally given way to clear skies, so folks had congregated in front of the church to take advantage of the warming rays of the sun.
I took the favorable conditions as a sign I was on the right path. My quarry was standing behind his kids while his wife chatted with a woman who worked at Rushing Creek Elementary School. The conversation appeared to be about the upcoming art fair. Junior stifled a yawn as he stole a look at his phone. It appeared I wasn’t going to be interrupting something regarding his kids and their grades. Good. He could spare a few minutes.
“Hey, Junior.” I sidled up next to him. “Long time no see.”
The blank look he gave me morphed into a smile. That was a relief. For a second, I worried he wouldn’t remember me, which would drag out the introductions, and rob me of the few precious moments I had with him.
“That it is.”
He introduced me to his kids with a warmth I hadn’t expected. Most people outside of my immediate circle treated me with the caution afforded a rattlesnake when I approached them out of the blue. This was a pleasant switch.
Even if it was more likely that I’d saved him listening to a conversation that was boring him to tears.
“I was wondering if you could help me with something.” With his kids right next to him, I needed to choose my words with care. “I’m doing research on gun safes for one of my authors’ books. Do you have a few minutes?”
He shrugged and pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck. “What’s up?”
“If someone brought you a safe with an electronic combination, but they didn’t know the code, could you get it open for them?”
“Depends on things like the safe’s age and manufacturer. If it’s a model we sell, I might be able to use the serial number to get ahold of someone to figure out how to reset it to its factory settings.”
“What if the serial number’s been removed?”
“It could still be done, but at that point, I’d refer the customer directly to the manufacturer.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you know if the serial number’s been removed, something shady might be going on.”
“My author’s story is a thriller, so there’s a lot of shady stuff going on in it.” I forced a laugh. No need to tip my hand.
“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms. “Your author’s interest in safes wouldn’t have anything to do with certain events closer to home, would it?”
“Purely coincidental. I promise.” I was going to have to say another extra Hail Mary or three as additional penance for my white lies. “Now that you mention it, did you know Newt?”
“Through the gun club. Nice enough guy, but a little out of touch.” He shook his head. “Awful sad what happened to him.”
His kids pulled at his coat. My time was up. I thanked him for his time and caught up with Mom. The chat had been helpful, but I sensed that Junior knew more than he’d let on.
“Doing some snooping?” Mom asked as we got into her car.
“What makes you think that? And I prefer the term sleuthing. Sounds fancier.”
My mother and I had reached a détente regarding my sleuthing efforts. I knew she didn’t like it because she was concerned for my safety. She knew I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines if I could help bring about justice.
Given our truce, her question caught me off guard. I’d assumed she wouldn’t want to talk about my investigation. I’d assumed wrong.
“Since you’ve been back, this is the first time you’ve spoken to Junior McCormick after Mass. He works at a farm supply store. Newt’s murder appears to involve things one might get at his store.”
“Some true Poirot-like deduction you’ve got going on there, Mother Dear.” I unzipped my coat as she started the car’s engine.
“You’re not the only one who likes a good mystery. I just happen to prefer to find mine in the world of medicine.”
“Indeed.” I laughed as Mom maneuvered into the line to exit the parking lot. “A lot safer that way, I suppose.”
Countless times during my youth, I’d come home from work at the library or hanging out with Sloane to find her curled up on the couch studying the latest edition of the Family Practice Medicine Journal or some other medical periodical. When I asked her why she needed to do so much reading since she was already a doctor, she told me she was faced with medical mysteries practically every day. One way to help solve them was to keep current on the latest developments in her field.
“Much safer. Though there was the time I went to Haiti after the earthquake to help fight the cholera outbreak. With all the suffering those people were going through, there was no way I could stay home.”
“Yeah, that totally wins on the hazard scale.”
Mom had spent three months in deplorable conditions—no running water, no electricity, surrounded by the sick and dying—providing the best medical care she could. She’d returned to a hero’s reception but hadn’t enjoyed the attention.
When I’d asked her why, she replied that she’d only been doing her job. The real heroes, in her mind, were the people who stayed on the island, working every single day to improve a dreadful situation.
“I don’t know about that.” She took a right-hand turn out of the parking lot. “We all knew what our adversary was. Contaminated water. Even though we couldn’t see the bacteria, we knew how to fight it. You don’t know who Newt’s murderer is, so you’re at a disadvantage there. You also don’t know how this foe of yours will act. My colleagues and I knew what to expect.”
We pulled into the Pub’s parking lot. There was a banner hanging above the front door encouraging customers to try its new Sunday brunch. Mom must have noticed my slack-jawed expression.
“I’ve been after Rachel to try this for months.” She winked. “You’re not the only one who knows how to keep a secret.”
Rachel greeted us with an ear-to-ear smile, and her hair was back to its usual state of looking gorgeous. She wrapped us both up in a lung-squeezing hug.
“I saved a spot for you. VIP service for family.” She guided us through the bustling crowd to a table by the front window. “Thanks for coming. Gotta go. Love you both.”
And with that, she was gone.
“Wow.” I took a sip of the mimosa a server placed in front of me. The bubbly, fruity drink tickled my tongue. “How long has she been working on this?”
“A few months. You know how long the line to get into the diner can get. She saw an opportunity. She’s going to do this until May. At that point, she’ll evaluate whether to make it permanent.”
“Did she talk to Angela?” It was one thing to identify and fill a need in the market. It was another to compete with the Brown County Diner for Sunday brunch. Potentially making Angela Miller, who was both the diner’s owner and the mayor, mad at you didn’t seem like a bright idea.
“Of course. I mean, she didn’t ask permission, but what can Angela do? This time of year, nobody wants to wait outside in the cold.” She held up her index finger. “Angela’s smart. She understands that if this works out, it’ll be a good thing for the whole community.
I pondered Mom’s words while Calypso took our orders. My assistant winked at me before she walked away. She’d been in on the secret, too.
“Holy cats, how out of touch am I? If I missed this, what else am I not seeing?”
Mom must have sensed my distress had more to it than being oblivious to Rachel’s plans. She took my hand.
“Look at me. Just because you didn’t know about this doesn’t mean you’ve lost your attention to detail. You have other things on your mind that are more important. Like your work.” She took a sip of her Bloody Mary. “And your investigation.”
“You think so?” The knot that had formed in my stomach loosened. Maybe she was right. The mind could prioritize only so many issues, after all.
“I know so. I’m actually proud of you about this. It tells me your days of Allie ‘Undercover Boss’ are firmly in the past.”
I laughed. It was a healthy, tension-releasing laugh. I was a silent partner in Rachel’s restaurant empire. Not so long ago, I’d taken that status a little too far and had started to annoy staff. Mom had set me straight over a brunch not unlike the one we were having. The topic had never come up again.
Until now.
“Touché.”
Calypso dropped off our orders and we dug in. My Belgian waffle with strawberries and cream melted in my mouth. The fruit gave it a welcome tartness that suggested scenes of green grass and cool beverages.
Mom raved about her eggs Benedict as much as I was relishing my meal. When she was finished, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin and let out a satisfied “aah.”
“Couldn’t agree more. Is it okay if I tell people about this?” Okay, I was still a tiny bit sensitive about the whole Undercover Boss accusation.
“Absolutely.” She finished off her Bloody Mary. “If you promise not to get huffy, I have some more intel for you.”
I had no idea what she was referring to, but given her phrasing, I had a sense it had something to do with Newt. This was different. When I’d peppered Mom with questions on prior investigations, she’d always answered them. She’d never volunteered information, though.
“Intel away, Mother Dearest.” It couldn’t hurt to do a little sucking up, after all.
She looked around, as if to confirm nobody was eavesdropping on our conversation. There was even a hint of a smile. She was enjoying this. I made a mental note to remind her of this very moment if she ever gave me grief about my sleuthing again.
“While you were talking to Junior, I managed to do some, I believe the term is background research, on him.”
I leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“It turns out that he’s a member of the gun club. Did you know that?”
“Not until today. Makes sense, though, given where he works. The club would be a good audience for him to promote some of his merchandise. Maybe I should talk to him again.”
“Exactly. That’s not all, though. According to a friend of mine, he ran against Newt for club president the last time the club had elections.”
“Really?” Mom’s intel had just gone from interesting to full-out fascinating. “Any idea if there was any bad blood over the election results?”
She smiled. “There was. Supposedly, Junior accused Newt of cheating. He claimed that before the election, he’d gotten enough promises from club members to vote for him so that the only way he could have lost was if Newt rigged the election.”
“Or members simply lied to him and went ahead and voted for Newt.” I mulled the information over while I gave Calypso my credit card to pay for brunch. “Regardless, is losing a club election reason enough to commit murder?”
“That’s for you to figure out, my dear. I can tell you one more thing. According to my sources, Junior can be a bit of hothead, especially after a couple of drinks.”
“Well, all righty then. Thanks for the intel. You’ve got quality resources.”
As we exited the Pub, my mind was running full speed with questions stemming from Mom’s information. I had the answer to one question, though.
Did I have enough on Junior McCormick to consider him a suspect in Newt’s murder?
Definitely.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time Mom dropped me off at my building, the Open sign in Renee’s front window was shining like a vermillion beacon. With a couple of manuscripts to edit the only things on my to-do list, I gravitated toward the store’s entrance like a sailor following a siren’s call.
“Allie, I’m glad you’re here.” Renee poured me a cup of coffee. “I’ve got some exciting news I’ve been dying to share with you.”
Renee was a huge supporter of the agency’s books. She gave new releases prominent displays and had even broached the subject of having Malcolm Blackstone, my most high-profile client, in town for a signing the next time he released a book. We often joked that I should give her a cut of my agent commission because of all the sales she generated.
“You’ve decided to put Cobb Literary Agency books on permanent rotation in your front window?”
“Something better than that.” She held up a small stack of papers. “It’s a signed lease for the apartment above you. For the first time since I bought it, this building is full.” She bounced up and down on her tiptoes. It was a massive emotional outburst from my low-key landlord and friend.
For years, the building had needed a new roof. Renee hadn’t felt comfortable renting that space until a new one was installed. Last summer, she’d finally been able to get the project done. Once that happened, it was only a matter of time until she found a tenant. While I was happy for her, I’d gotten quite comfortable with the apartment above remaining vacant, and the silence that came with it.
I shook the selfish thoughts away. Renee was a good person and had taken her time looking for the right tenant. This was good news.
“That’s fabulous.” I gave her a hug. “Is it someone local or someone moving to town?”
“Hey, neighbor.” Gabe Sandoval gave me a tap on the shoulder.
My gaze went back and forth between Renee and Gabe three times before my brain caught up. Even though he grew up in Rushing Creek, some people looked at him askance because of his brown skin and last name. One time, he’d confided in me that the unkind behavior made him feel like an outsider in his hometown. In my younger days, I’d often felt the same. We’d made a connection via that shared outlook. While I didn’t know him well enough to consider him a friend, he was someone I trusted.
And it took a while for me to come to trust someone.
“Hi.” I gave him a fist bump. “Welcome to the neighborhood. If there’s anything I can do to help you get settled in, let me know. Oh, just an FYI, if you hear some weird yowling coming from my apartment from time to time, that’ll be Ursi, my cat complaining about the birds.”
“Thanks. And to return the FYI, I’m moving in tomorrow. I’ll try not to bother you too much.”
“That’s quick.” I raised my eyebrows as I turned back toward Renee.
She shrugged. “The apartment’s available. The weather looks decent for the next couple of days—”
“And I’m dying to get out from under my folks’ roof.” He chuckled.
“Their loss is our gain. I don’t mind having an officer of the law as one of my tenants. A full-time officer, to boot,” Renee said.
Since Renee opened the door, I decided to take advantage and step through.
“Any news on the Arbogast investigation, Gabe?”
He took a quick look around. A few shoppers were browsing in the aisles, but nobody seemed to be within earshot.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but Mr. Arbogast’s firearms are missing from his gun safe. His wife told us she has no idea how long they’ve been gone. We’re not certain there’s a connection between the apparent theft and the murder, but we’re looking into it.”
“Interesting. Does that mean that Cammy Flanagan is no longer a suspect?”
“That’s not for me to say.” Gabe tugged at the collar of his flannel shirt like it was suddenly too tight. “I should get home to do more packing. See you around.”
Even though he was off duty, he marched out of the bookstore like he was responding to an emergency call.
“The ink’s barely dry on the lease and you’ve already scared him off.” Renee crossed her arms. “Well done, Ms. Kickboxing Crusader.”
“Oh, come on. Gabe could have stuck to the old ‘we’re pursuing a variety of lines of investigation’ schtick. He didn’t.” I raised my chin a bit. “He told me as much as he was comfortable and knew it was better to get out before he said too much. Which goes to show how persuasive I can be.”
Renee gave me a hard stare. One of her nostrils even flared for a moment. Then she burst out laughing.
“Allie, my friend, nobody can say with a straight face that their life is boring when you’re a part of it.”
“I live to serve.”
After perusing the New Releases section, I picked out a couple of graphic novels for Calypso. Her birthday was coming up in a few weeks. It would be fun to surprise her with a gift.
My business in the bookstore complete, I headed upstairs. Ursi greeted me with her usual demand to be fed. I wrapped her up in my arms and held her until she started squirming.
“Oh, my goodness. It’s been a whole four hours since you’ve eaten. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.”
She let out a mrrw and wriggled out of my arms. Once she was free, she made a beeline for the kitchen. Since I’m a complete pushover, I poured some dry food into her bowl. Even with favorable weather in the forecast, it was too cold to take her for a walk. To make up for that, I promised her we’d go up and down the stairs and take laps on the second- and third-floor halls. It wasn’t ideal but was way better than having my kitty go without exercise.
The same could be said for me.
With Ursi’s demands addressed, I turned my thoughts to the conversation with Gabe. So, the police thought burglary might have played a part in Newt’s murder. I didn’t buy it.
Especially since no other valuables were taken and there was no sign of struggle, as far as I knew.
Besides, why go to the trouble of putting the body in the safe and then make sure it was found?
No. This murder had been planned down to the most minute detail. So, if the murderer was into symbolism as much as I thought, how did the gun theft figure into the equation? I studied my case notes as I tried to suss out a connection more substantial than sending the cops on a wild-goose chase.
An unsettling thought pushed itself to the surface. Maybe the crimes weren’t connected. Maybe the guns were taken by someone as a simple crime of opportunity.
Or, what if Newt removed them from the safe so he could sell them? The president of a gun club unloading his collection didn’t make much sense to me. On the other hand, the Arbogasts sure seemed to be having some money troubles.
Maybe someone gave him an offer that was really a setup. He went to make the sale and they did him in. If, and it was an if as big as the Empire State Building, my supposition was correct, then dumping him in the safe might have been a way to send some kind of message. I had no idea who the message recipient was supposed to be, but at this point it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility.
Implausible? Definitely. Way more unlikely than not, in fact. But with an imagination as fertile as mine, not impossible. If that were the case, knowing when the firearms went missing was critical.
Which meant it was time for another visit to Shelly.
“Hey, don’t judge. I know it’s an insane idea.” I stroked Ursi along her spine when I shared my thoughts. “If nothing else, it will let me rule this scenario out. See you in a bit, girl.”
• • •
“Allie, hello again,” Shelly said when she opened the door to me. She smiled but didn’t invite me in. “What can I do for you?”
“Wanted to stop by to see how you’re doing.” I handed her a key lime pie I’d picked up on the way. It never hurt to grease the investigatory wheels with one of Angela’s amazing pies.
“Thank you. Between you and me, I’ve gotten enough casseroles to fill my freezer.”
We stood on the threshold in silence. After a few moments, things began to get a touch uncomfortable. I had questions, though. If she didn’t want me around, she was going to have to say so.
After another few moments, she glanced over her shoulder, then gave a quick nod. “Will you have a piece with me?”
“I’d love to.”
Once I stepped inside, a man putting on his coat in the living room caught my attention. When he turned to face me, my heart dropped into my stomach.
It was Victor Allen.
His gray eyes were cold, penetrating. They were a fitting match for his navy blue suit and black wool overcoat. Probably cashmere. If asked, he would probably say he was on his way home from church and stopped by to check in on a friend. I wasn’t going to give him that chance.
“Mr. Allen, what a pleasant surprise.” I walked right up to him. He was trim but had a good foot in height over me. His salon-styled hair and closely trimmed beard gave him a satanic look.
“Miss Cobb.” He gave me a quick nod. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m needed at the inn.”
How convenient. “It’s nice of you to look in on Shelly. You deserve a tip of the hat for supporting her. Especially since you and Newt didn’t always see eye to eye.”
He cracked a smile. “When you’ve been in business as long as Newton and me, there will be times when you disagree on something. What I remember are the good times we had together. As business neighbors and as friends.”
He swept past me, only stopping to give Shelly a hug that lasted a little too long for my liking. Then he was gone. The only remnant of his presence was a whiff of his spice-scented cologne.
“Well, shall we?” Shelly smiled as she gestured down the hall. The expression was a poor effort and looked more like a pained grimace.
At that point, it seemed to leave any questioning about Vic’s presence here for a later time. I couldn’t help but wonder whether his desire for a quick exit was real or a way to avoid talking to me. The thought seemed a little arrogant. He had to know what I was up to, though. If I was the murderer, I’d make every effort to avoid talking to me, too.
I returned Shelly’s smile with one that I hoped was more convincing. “I’d love to.”
On my way to the kitchen, I kept my eyes peeled for Newt’s gun safe. I hadn’t noticed it on my previous visit and was hoping to figure out a tactful way to bring the topic up.
While Shelly was getting out plates and utensils, she asked me about my office IT. When I moved into the apartment, I’d hired her to make sure I had sufficient tech in place for a state-of-the-art remote workplace. The last thing I could afford was connectivity and communication problems. She’d made sure that didn’t happen.
“It’s good. The backup power supply you recommended came in handy back in November. My building lost power for a few hours, but I didn’t miss a beat. I also used my phone as a wi-fi hotspot. The day went by without any hiccups.”
“That’s great to hear. Since it’s been a couple of years, I’d be happy to come by and give your system a checkup.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll check my calendar when I get back to the apartment and circle back with you.”
I didn’t plan on doing that. At least not until Shelly was officially off my suspect list. There was no sense in inviting a potential murderer into my home when they knew I was investigating the case. Playing nice never hurt, though.
“How’s your investigation going? I talked to the cops yesterday. If they know anything, they’re keeping it to themselves.” She sliced through the pie with a knife almost as long as my forearm.
For a second, I imagined it slicing through me. I gulped. Sometimes, having a vivid imagination was a real downer.
“It’s, uh, going okay.” I picked a dust mote off my sweater to give me a second to regroup. “I heard Newt’s gun collection is missing. How awful.”
She handed me a slice of pie and sat next to me. Her jaw was clenched so tight, I was afraid she’d crack a tooth.
“As if I didn’t have enough to deal with right now. I’m going to have to get ahold of the insurance papers and I don’t even know for sure what he had in there.”
“All of his guns were in the safe?” I took a bite. The cinnamon and nutmeg were a perfect complement to the tart apples. The flaky crust had a delightful touch of sweetness to it. All things considered, I would much rather have been discussing the merits of the pie.
“He kept a handgun and a rifle at the shop. For protection, he said.” She stabbed a piece of apple with her fork. “Every now and then, he’d have trouble with a shoplifter. I told him a video camera would be a better deterrent, but he insisted on doing it his way. I loved the man, but sometimes he could be so foolish.”
“Has anyone checked to see if they’re accounted for?”
“My youngest is at the shop now. I asked her to check on things before she heads back out of town. I just”—she choked back a sob—“can’t deal with that right now.”
I gave her hand a squeeze. While part of me wanted to reassure her, a little voice in my brain commented that it was a good performance if it was an act.
“Do you know if he kept any firearms at the gun club?”
“No. They used to have a gun safe in the clubhouse, but they got rid of it a while back.” She looked at me with furrowed eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”
Was she worried I was nosing into something she didn’t want found? I couldn’t tell. This was one of those times when honesty was the best way to go. If I started lying to her now, it would be too easy to get tripped up later.
“I’m trying to see if there’s a connection between what happened to Newt and the theft of the guns.”
She stared at me for a moment, then her eyes went wide. “Now I get it. You think it might have been a robbery gone wrong?”
“Possibly. There’s no evidence of a break-in either here or at the shop, so if it was a burglary that went wrong, it’s a good possibility the murderer knew Newt. Maybe they caught him off guard, or something like that.”
She shivered. “The thought of something like that happening in my home. Well, I can’t imagine.”
The conversation had gone right where I wanted it. It was time to seize the opportunity.
“Do you mind if I take a look at the safe? You never know. I might notice something the police missed.”
“Sure.” She smiled. “After we finish this pie.”
We chatted about her kids while we ate. The more we talked, the less she seemed like the kind of person who’d murder her husband. Then again, just because she spoke glowingly about her children and grandchildren didn’t mean she didn’t want her husband out of the picture.
As we got up to go check out the safe, my gaze fell upon the fancy coffee maker. A troubling thought crossed my mind.
What if I was right about Shelly conspiring to murder Newt but wrong about the identity of her coconspirator?
Maybe she and Henri did have more going on than anybody knew about. If that was the case, where did that leave Elise? It was another thread I’d have to tug on to see if it unraveled. Man, I had so many loose threads I was getting all tied up. I crossed my fingers that the safe would provide a clue to untangle a thread or two.
I followed Shelly through the kitchen’s back doorway and into a mudroom that served as a combination pantry and home to Newt’s gun collection. To my left, shelves were stocked with cans of soup, boxes of dried pasta, and other shelf-stable items. To my right, a small desk and chair faced one wall. A rack of coat hangers was hung on the opposite wall. The safe was at the far end, flanked by wooden cubbyholes that contained everything from gun club correspondence to packets of turkey jerky.
Shelly edged past me to get to the safe. She poked at her phone’s screen a few times, then looked over her shoulder at me.
“I never opened the thing, but Newt insisted I keep the combination somewhere, just in case. I have it stored on the cloud so nobody can get to it.”
“Wise move.” While she punched a code into a keypad on the face of the safe’s door, I couldn’t help wondering why it was so important to share that specific piece of information with me.
Was she implying her innocence in the theft? Or was she covering either her or someone else’s tracks.
Wait a minute. I flipped through the photos on my phone until I came to the ones I took of the safe at the police station. My gaze went from the picture to the large black object a few feet from me. They were the exact same.
That could not be a coincidence.
The safe’s door opened before I could mention that to Shelly. Pouches of varying sizes hung from the inside of the door, reminiscent of my closet organizer. The interior chamber was empty. Or at least appeared to be that way.
I set aside the questions bouncing around in my head about the twin safes and placed my hand on the door. Focus on the task at hand, Allie.
The textured steel surface was cool to the touch. For some reason, I broke out in goose bumps.
“Do you mind if I poke around?”
Shelly shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Using my phone’s flashlight, I passed a light across all the surfaces of the interior. I swept the corners twice. If there was a clue hiding in a nook or cranny, I didn’t see it.
With the interior empty, I turned my attention to the pockets on the door. From top to bottom, there were four rows of them. Smallish pouches about the size of a tiny clutch made up the top two rows. They held hulls, shot, and other items used in making shotgun shells.
Two pockets, each about the size of a hardback novel, made up the third row. They were empty. “Any idea what he kept in these?”
She shook her head, so I moved to the bottom row. There was a single pocket. It was almost as wide as the door and tall enough to hold pieces of paper eleven by seventeen inches with ease. A flap that ran the width of the pocket was secured by a snap closure. I popped it open and peered inside.
What do we have here? There was a notebook of some kind in the pocket. I stopped my hand halfway there.
“The police have already checked the safe for evidence, right?”
“Yep. It was Ollie Watson.”
I cringed. Oliver Watson was Rushing Creek’s longest tenured cop. He’d been on the force for thirty-five years and was biding his time until he could retire when he turned sixty. Given that he was lazy, obese, and spent as much time at the Brown County Diner’s lunch counter as he did anywhere else, I couldn’t wait for that birthday to arrive.
He was too popular among Rushing Creek’s old guard for Matt to fire him. Instead, the chief tried to put Ollie in situations where he would do the least damage.
Collecting evidence at a crime scene wasn’t one of those situations. Normally, that task was handled by Jeanette. I made a mental note to ask her why Ollie had filled in for her.
“And he went through everything, including all these pockets, right?”
“I assume so. I was in the dining room. Pete Naughton was interviewing me about the theft while Ollie was back here.”
I nodded. There was no doubt in my mind that Ollie had given the safe a cursory dusting for fingerprints and then given the inside a quick scan. When he found the smaller pockets empty, he didn’t even bother checking the big one. I kept the unsettling thought to myself.
For the time being.
If it turned out that Ollie had overlooked a key piece of evidence, I’d make a beeline for Matt’s office and report the negligence.
That was for another time, though. Right now, I needed to focus on the task at hand. Using a tissue to keep my fingerprints off the notebook, I took it out.
“Does this look familiar?” I held it out to Shelly.
“That’s the gun club’s ledger.” Her eyes went wide as she took a step back, like she was afraid it would bite her.
“Was it normal for him to keep it here? I would have thought this is something the treasurer would have.” I placed it on the desk and started taking photos of the pages.
“Sometimes he’d keep it here when he and Sal were working on the club’s budget. But that was usually in the fall.”
“So, Sal was the one who was responsible for maintaining the ledger?”
“Yes. He sent monthly financial reports to Newton for their club board meetings. Like I said, the only time he wanted to see the ledger was when they worked on the budget.”
“Newt and Sal were friends, I understand.”
“Lifelong. They were more like brothers than friends. When Sal went through his divorce, Newton stuck by his side the whole time.”
“Was it messy?” I kept my tone neutral. I wanted to play it cool. At the same time, I was hoping she’d give me something I could use in a follow-up conversation with Sal.
“It was when it came to child support. Sal’s ex, Jane, wanted way more in monthly support and money for college for their two girls than he could afford. State employees aren’t the best paid folks, if you know what I mean.” She shook her head. “It was sad. Lots of court dates. Jane always wanting more. He tried his best, but it was never enough.”
“Sounds like you and Newt were good friends to stand by his side.”
“Divorce is never easy, especially when kids are involved. Your sister will tell you that. We just wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.”
I snapped photos as I flipped pages. If there was a clue hidden among all the numbers, I was determined to find it. The conversation about Sal was giving me the critical time I needed to photograph every page.
“This ledger is old school. Any idea why the club used this instead of computer software?”
She laughed. “I tried to bring them into the twenty-first century but never got anywhere. The club didn’t own a computer. Someone always complained that they didn’t want private club information on a member’s personal computer. I told Newt the dinosaurs were being silly. I could have set them up with a decent laptop and excellent security for a few hundred bucks. But they didn’t want to do that.”
“Men refusing to listen to us women. Go figure.” I took a final photo and handed the ledger to Shelly. “Obviously, Ollie missed this. I’d recommend you either take it to the police or have them come and get it. There may be important information in there.”
“Would you mind doing it?” Her eyes darted back and forth as she held out her hands, refusing to take it. “I mean, you found it, after all.”
I was about to insist she call the police, but something held me back. Her unease made me wonder why she wouldn’t make a simple phone call. Then it became clear.
Shelly might be afraid there was something incriminating among the pages and didn’t want to be seen with it. Maybe she wanted to be rid of it before the cops saw it. If I turned it in, she could always deny any knowledge of it. Ollie would probably insist it wasn’t there when he conducted his search, just to save his own skin.
A clever bit of misdirection on Shelly’s part.
“Sure. You have enough to deal with. I should have realized it.” I tucked the ledger under my arm. “I’ll take care of it.”
Oh, yes, I’d take care of it. After all, I had a growing feeling the key to Newt’s murder was literally in my hands. Now, I had to figure out what, exactly, the key unlocked.
Chapter Eighteen
With Newt’s funeral the day before, I had a hunch there’d be a gathering at the gun club. Members getting together in a familiar environment to tell stories and remember their friend who would be with them in spirit. As often as not with alcohol present.
If I could corner a member or two, I might be able to ask some questions about the club’s finances. I banged on my handlebars in excitement when I rolled into the club parking lot. There were a dozen vehicles. So far, my little gray cells hadn’t steered me wrong. Still, I couldn’t escape the sense I was recreating Daniel walking into the lion’s den.
“Okay, Allie. You can do this. For Cammy and for Newt.” I took a deep breath and dismounted my steed.
Gunfire reports bounced among the trees surrounding the club. They were timely reminders that I needed to tread with caution. These were responsible gun owners. They were careful with their firearms. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility Newt’s murderer was among them, though. If I started asking uncomfortable questions, the risk of being the casualty of an “accidental” shooting went through the roof.
Three people in coats, hats, and safety goggles were on the firing range. When I waved, they returned the gesture. The exchange calmed my nerves. The people here weren’t my enemies. They had jobs, families, and worries just like me.
When I was preparing for my move to New York City after graduating from college, my dad gave me a unique and valuable piece of advice: “Don’t go looking for monsters under every bed.”
It was his way of reminding me that the world had plenty of bad people and bad things, but I couldn’t let fear take over my life. The overwhelming majority of people I’d meet would be good-hearted. Automatically assuming every person I met was a criminal of some sort was no way to live. Instead, he wanted me to believe in the basic goodness of people. There was nothing wrong with that belief that trust must be earned, but I needed to give people the chance to earn my trust.
It was sage advice back then. It was every bit as relevant now.
I knocked on the clubhouse’s front door, then waited a few moments to open it. I didn’t want to barge right in on a private gathering and risk annoying the people whose cooperation I needed.
A large group of people, fifteen or so, waved and said “Hi” when I entered. They’d gathered in a circle, balancing plastic plates laden with snacks on their laps. Judging by the impressive collection of beer and spirits on a table, alcoholic drinks were the beverages of choice.
While the fact that a lot of the members here were going to drink and drive worried me, I wasn’t going to judge. Memories of my father’s wake flooded my mind. I’d walked home that night after having one too many. But I knew a few family friends who’d driven when they shouldn’t have. Given the circumstances then, I’d given them a pass. This time, I’d call Matt and encourage him to find a way to get these grieving souls home safely.
I set those musings aside when Sal came over to greet me.
“Allie, this is a surprise. What brings you by?” After shaking my hand, he guided me toward a table next to the drinks, where a buffet had been assembled.
My mouth started watering at the site. Crock-Pots of chili were surrounded by a tray of chicken wings and a variety of fixings for lunch meat sandwiches. Sweet treats like cookies, cakes, and pies that were still warm from the oven sat next to savory items like chips and queso and shrimp cocktail. These people knew how to shoot guns. They knew how to prepare a feast, too.
“Since I couldn’t make it to the funeral, I wanted to come by to pay my respects.” To get my mind off the food, I walked toward a poster-sized portrait of Newt propped up on an aluminum display easel.
“That’s kind of you.” Sal joined me by the portrait. “Would you like to say something to the group? I’m sure they’d love to hear a few words from you.”
At first, I wanted to decline. I wasn’t a member of their club. What could I possibly say about their president that they didn’t already know? Then, once again, Dad’s wise words came back to me. They weren’t monsters. They were people mourning the loss of their friend. A few kind words couldn’t hurt.
Sal’s eyes got a touch cloudy when I agreed. Hopefully, that was a sign that I’d made the right decision. He led me to the edge of the circle and introduced me.
“Allie wanted to say a few words about Newt.” He bowed and stepped back.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the service yesterday. I am glad I was able to catch you all here today and I appreciate your warm welcome. Newt was an asset to this community for decades and we’re poorer without him.”
I took a sip of water. Everyone’s attention was on me. I needed to make my words matter, so I told them the story about the leather pouch he made for Brent. When I finished, a few club members dabbed at the corners of their eyes. Others smiled and nodded. Evidently, I’d chosen the right story. I took the opportunity to step out on a limb.
“If any of you have any idea about who may have taken Newt’s life or why, please don’t hesitate to speak to the police. We can’t bring him back. We can bring his murderer to justice, though.”
There were several comments of assent. I thanked them for their time and shut my mouth. Anything more ran the risk of becoming counterproductive. These folks needed to be encouraged, lifted up, not browbeaten.
It was a long shot, but I figured if I hung around for a bit, I might be able to coax info out of someone. With that thought in mind, I meandered toward the buffet table. While I was nibbling on a tortilla chip, Jack Rogers, a buddy from the 9/11 committee, came up alongside me.
“Thanks for coming.” He put a handful of baby carrots on his plate. “Since I’ve never seen you here before, are you really here for a social call and nothing else?”
I chewed on a celery stick while I debated my answer. Jack was a friend. In the end, trust won out.
“I may be looking for information about Newt. The folks here knew him as well as anyone.”
“Thought as much.” He scratched behind an ear. “You didn’t hear this from me, but there have been grumblings from some members who aren’t happy with how the club’s been spending money. Like, not all expenditures are going to support the club’s mission, if you know what I mean.”
My thoughts went straight to the ledger. Was Newt misappropriating funds? Or was he trying to figure out if someone else was?
I was going to have to extend my stay a bit longer. Perhaps this case wasn’t as straightforward as a crime committed so someone could get their hands on the store property.
“I do. Any thoughts?” I munched on a tortilla chip. Folks knew we were on the 9/11 committee, so our chat shouldn’t raise any suspicions. Still, one couldn’t be too careful if the murderer was among us.
“Not really. It’s mostly coming from the older members. Problem is they’re keeping their complaining to themselves. I think it’s because they don’t want word to get out.”
“Aha.” I wiped my fingers with a napkin. “So much for the saying there’s no such thing as bad publicity. May I ask why you’re telling me this?”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “I didn’t spend my time overseas just to stand idly by and watch people get away with breaking the law here at home. And you’re as good at being a detective as you are at keeping things under your hat.”
I thanked Jack for the intel and went looking for Sal. He was the treasurer. If there was an authority on the club’s finances, it was him.
He was out on the gun range, so I hung out. Members would head outdoors to fire off a few rounds on the range, then return for a snack or drink with their friends. One person was conspicuous by their absence, though.
Junior was nowhere to be seen. Interesting. Maybe he had to be at work. Or maybe he was more upset about the election than he was letting on. I made a mental note to look into that issue just as Sal came back inside.
An old nemesis of mine, Jax Michaels was by his side. Based on the sneer directed at me, Jax still resented me for accusing him of murder, and other crimes, a few years back.
I ignored the man and put my hand on Sal’s arm.
“Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute? In private if you don’t mind?”
“Sure. I need to pack up this beauty, anyway.” A fancy rifle was in his hands. He caressed it like I’d caress the cover of a first edition hardback of Nancy Drew’s The Mystery of the Old Clock.
I followed him into the office where we’d chatted the other day. He slid the rifle into a softcover case that had been draped across the desk. While he zipped it up, he bumped a laptop. Someone was using a computer here. The screen came to life to display a spreadsheet.
It was tough to be certain, but a few lines seemed to contain the names of businesses. I whipped out my phone and jotted down the names while he put the rifle away. Later, I’d see if they showed up in Newt’s ledger.
“So, what’s on your mind?” He leaned the rifle against the wall behind him.
“That’s a nice gun. Had it long?”
“Oh, that?” He shook his head. “No, actually. Came across it when I was surfing the web recently. With the group getting together today, it was the perfect chance to try it out.”
“Are you a collector like Newt?” I knew little about firearms, but even I could tell that the rifle looked expensive. I couldn’t help wondering if it was one of the guns taken from Newt’s safe. Then again, if it was one of Newt’s guns, why hadn’t the club members noticed? Or were they reluctant to say anything for fear of causing a row.
“Not by a long shot, pardon the pun. I like to keep my eyes open for a good deal, though. When I find one, boom, I’m all over it.” He slapped a palm on the desktop for emphasis.
I almost jumped out of my seat. I was already on edge. Now, I knew exactly how Ursi felt when I made a racket at home that caused her to dash under the bed to hide. She had an apology coming to her for the times I made fun of her for disdain of loud noises.
“Gotta love a bargain. The reason I wanted to speak to you alone is a sensitive matter. I was visiting with Shelly earlier on account of Newt’s guns being reported missing. When we were looking through the safe for clues, we came across a hard-copy ledger.”
He sat up straight. “I thought the police searched the safe.”
“They did. According to Shelly, they must have overlooked it.” I stopped for couple of seconds. “The police have it now, though.” That was a small lie, but he didn’t need to know that.
“That’s good.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he closed the laptop. “So, any idea what was in it?”
Sal’s movements gave him away. The man was probably the worst poker player in Rushing Creek. I was pleased to have him uneasy. I didn’t know the reason for his discomfort, though. I needed to tread lightly to avoid getting him mad and being thrown out of the place.
“Shelly and I were curious, so we went through it. It sure looked like a ledger for the club here. Any idea why he had it? I mean, you’re the treasurer, after all.”
Like a deer in the headlights, he stared at me without blinking. Then he slapped the desktop again.
“Man, where is my head? Sorry, with everything going on, it’s been tough to focus. Now I remember why he had it. We’re in the early stages of planning our annual fundraiser. He wanted to look at the books to see how we’ve done in past years. You know, to see if we want to keep doing the same thing or try something new to avoid diminishing returns. That kind of thing. Kind of like how your 9/11 committee changed the event last year.”
His explanation would be easy enough to confirm. I might not get another crack at him, though.
“I totally get that.” I threw in a little laugh for effect. “What have you all done in the past?”
He waved his hand in a little circle. “A little bit of everything. We used to sell magazine subscriptions, back when people still read magazines. Before the lottery laws changed, we had a casino night. Then we sold venison for a few years. After that—”
“No, I mean, what did you do most recently. You know, so Newt could look at the whole diminishing returns issue.”
“Oh, right.” The Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a few more times. “We sold trash bags. The high-quality ones.”
“Really?” I leaned forward. “The Rushing Creek Elementary kids sell those, too.”
“Oh, yeah. Like I said, my brain’s been mush. No, we thought about that, but instead went with laundry detergent. In the five-gallon jugs. With the pump handle.” He raised and lowered his outstretched fist in a pumping motion to drive home the image.
“I see.” The baseball team sold those. Holy cats, the man was awful at lying. “What are you looking at doing this year?”
“Haven’t decided. I mean, that’s why Newt wanted to look at the numbers. If sales haven’t declined, we’ll keep doing it.”
I didn’t believe it for a second. There was something fishy going on here, but I couldn’t put my finger on what, exactly. I’d won this round, though, so it was time to move on. With what I hoped was a sincere-looking smile, I gave Sal a big nod.
“That makes a lot of sense. I’ll mention what y’all are doing at my next 9/11 committee meeting. Someone might have a suggestion for you.” I pulled a business card out of my back pocket. I always kept a couple on hand. “Here’s my contact info. Let me know when you kick off your fundraiser. I’d like to contribute.”
We shook hands and I made a quick exit, only stopping long enough to make my goodbyes to Jack and a few others I knew. There was much to consider, and I wanted to do it where I did a lot of my best thinking.
In front of the kickboxing bag.
• • •
A few hours later, I punched the center of the bag with a series of jackhammer-like jabs, whacked the side with a roundhouse kick from my right leg, and finished the workout by headbutting my imaginary opponent. The final move was something I’d recently added to my routine. It was against the rules in a real International Kickboxing Federation match. In real life, people don’t play by the rules, though.
If I ever found myself in danger, and I managed to do that way too often, I wanted as many tools in my bag of tricks as possible. One could never be too prepared, especially when one spent their free time investigating murders.
As I wiped my face with a towel, I took a seat on the floor next to Ursi. My feline enjoyed watching me work out. Either that or she had learned if she stuck around, I’d share the contents of my water bottle with her. Regardless of the reason, it was nice to have her companionship.
“Good workout, girl.” Once my gloves were off, I tapped my fist against one of her front paws. “I think I’m making progress on the case.”
Mrrh. Ursi put her paw on top of my hand. At first, I thought she was returning the fist bump, but then she reached toward the water bottle. She was no dummy. It was time for Mommy to share some water.
I laughed as I squirted some into a little teacup I kept close at hand for such occasions. She could be so predictable.
The same could be said for humans. Especially those with something to hide.
Shelly and Vic were hiding something related to their meeting at the library. Henri and Elise were hiding something regarding the coffee machine in Shelly’s kitchen. Sal was hiding something connected to the gun club.
Had Newt been hiding something, too? Had his secret been exposed and that’s what led to his murder?
Puzzle pieces were still missing. For the first time in a while, though, I wasn’t worried. My gut told me some of the pieces would be found among the pages of Newt’s ledger. Reviewing it was going to be quite revealing.
Chapter Nineteen
A lot of people don’t like Mondays. I get it. The fun and games of the weekend are over. It’s time to return to the routine of the workweek—getting up when the alarm goes off and heading to the job site, classroom, or office.
I considered myself among the fortunate folks who looked forward to getting to work on Mondays. Part of it was that I often worked every day, in one form or another. If I got a message from a client on a Saturday or Sunday, I tried to respond in a timely fashion.
My clients were busy folks. Many of them had day jobs and did their writing outside of the traditional nine-to-five window. When you added in the fact that they lived in locations from Cork, Ireland, to San Diego, California, I received questions, concerns, and other messages at all times of the day or night.
Being available was a core component of my job. It was one I embraced with a smile. After all, my office was a ten-second walk from my bedroom. I could spend all day in my pj’s and not feel a twinge of guilt about it.
For me, it was the perfect lifestyle.
It wasn’t a footloose and fancy-free existence, though. I needed to maintain some structure to ensure the work of the Cobb Literary Agency got done in a timely and professional manner. That’s where my office hours with Calypso on Monday and Friday mornings came in. A lot got accomplished during those sessions. I always ended them with more energy than a brand-new battery.
At times like this, when I was dedicating a lot of energy to trying to catch a murderer, the meetings were also invaluable reminders of where I needed to keep my priorities. I made a living as a literary agent, not a homicide investigator.
“What’s the word this week, Boss?” Calypso, dressed head to toe in her signature black, with a gray scarf for a splash of color, plopped down on the couch and took a long slurp from her coffee mug. The launch of the revamped website had gone flawlessly. It was full speed ahead with the agency.
“No new releases this week, but we’ve got one coming up next Tuesday. Want to make a graphic to post on release day?”
“Consider it done.” She tapped away at her tablet. I’d given the device to her for Christmas. She used it for almost everything, it seemed, even taking notes during our meetings.
“I got a romcom manuscript in over the weekend. It needs editing.” I tapped at my own tablet. “Just sent it to you. It’s due to the editor a week from this Friday. Can you get your edits to me by the end of this week?”
“No problemo. Things are kind of slow at the Pub right now, so I’ve got time on my hands.”
Slow? The restaurant had been packed only the day before. Calypso must have noticed my reaction.
“The brunch crowd was great. By three o’clock we were a ghost town, though. Last month, Rachel warned all of us part-timers that our hours would be on the lean side until April.”
Such was the nature of running a business that catered to the tourist crowd. The Pub was generally as packed as my bookshelves May through October. Business was steady, if not spectacular, in April and November. The other four months of the year were quiet. Rachel made up for the loss of business during that time by offering catering services for the holidays.
My sister knew what she was doing. Her restaurants were making money. The acquisition of Marinara’s had bolstered her bottom line. I still worried about her and her employees, though. With the ever-changing trends in dining, she had to be always on her toes.
In a way, it wasn’t unlike my job. I had to be constantly on the lookout for promising new authors with unique stories to tell. I never knew when a current author would want to take their career in a different direction and part ways. I also had to stay abreast of the ever-changing dynamics of the publishing world.
I sat back as the enormity of the thought hit me. My sister, who I barely spoke to for the better part of a decade, and I were more alike than I realized. It was amazing what one could do when they kept an open mind.
Like I needed to do with Newt’s investigation.
But first, I needed to make sure Calypso was okay.
“In that case, what would you think about an increase of your hours here? Say, from twenty to twenty-five? And, I don’t know, how about fifty cents more an hour?”
Making the offer was a spur-of-the-moment move, to be sure. Calypso had earned it, though.
“Hmm.” She went to the kitchen to refill her coffee mug. On her way back, she stopped to exchange a few words with Ursi. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but I stayed in my office chair. Calypso did have a flair for the dramatic. The least I could do was indulge her.
“Interesting offer.” She took a seat in a director’s chair by the printer. “I appreciate the thought. What happens when things get busy again at the Pub? I can make some serious bank from tips on the weekends.”
Good golly, she was negotiating. I’d had her listen in on a few of my recent negotiations with editors. The experiences hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, that was for sure.
“We can deal with that when the time comes.” I decided to play a little bit of hardball with her. Just to see how she’d react. “Tips are great when you have customers. But when you don’t . . .” I shrugged and picked up my phone. “If you’re not interested, that’s fine. Just thought I’d make the offer.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.” She chewed at the corner of her lower lip. It was her tell. I had her but she wasn’t going to go give in without some effort. “How about two bucks an hour?”
She had guts, coming back with such an aggressive counteroffer. I had things to do, though, so I needed to wrap this up.
“A dollar an hour and you can start working on final manuscript edits.” I held up my index finger. “With client approval, of course.”
It was more money and more responsibility. I could practically see the neurons in her brain firing, debating how to respond. After about fifteen seconds, she shrugged.
“That’s acceptable, I guess.” She took a drink. A sparkle in her eyes made me think that she was trying to hide a grin.
“Good. I’ll start on the paperwork.” Since our business for the day was finished, she got up to leave. “Oh, one more thing. With more hours and pay comes more responsibility. How’s the title Associate Agent sound?”
Calypso’s eyes went wide as she leaned back. I’d caught her by surprise, so she was unable to hide the joy under her cool cat demeanor. The offer had made her happy. Which made me happy.
“I like the ring of it.” She rushed over and gave me a hug. Before I had a chance to react, she’d straightened up and was brushing at the corner of her eyes with her thumb. “I gotta go tell Renee. Peace out.”
She flashed the peace sign and was gone.
I laughed. It was thrilling see her so pleased with the development.
With the apartment to myself and Ursi, I made a club sandwich with a side of cottage cheese and ate it while I emailed editors. I had a dozen manuscripts that had been out on query for a month, so it was time to check in. By the time I finished my meal, the follow-ups had been sent. Then I updated Calypso’s employment records. I couldn’t wait for her reaction when she got her next paycheck.
For the moment, all things Cobb Literary Agency were under control. That was a good feeling. Since my mind was free to totally focus on the case, it was time to take a deep dive into the ledger.
It was currently stored in a paper bag in the back of my closet under a pile of blankets. I was probably being paranoid, but I didn’t want to turn it over to the police until I found what had Shelly so wigged out about it. I also wanted to ensure any fingerprints that were on, and in, the ledger remained intact. Lastly, I wanted to make sure it would be difficult to find if someone unsavory came looking for it.
“Not paranoid, simply prudent.” That’s what I’d said to Ursi when I was piling the blankets on top of it. The way she flicked an ear back made me think she wasn’t convinced.
I printed out the pages I’d photographed and put them in chronological order. It was critical to get a sense of the club’s finances over several years. If something fishy was going on, it wouldn’t conveniently stand out in big bold red ink.
“This is gonna require copious amounts of caffeine, girl,” I told Ursi as I headed for the kitchen to refill my coffee mug.
God love her, she curled up at my feet when I settled back down at my desk. It was like she knew I needed the support. She wasn’t wrong. God knew how much I despised math.
As the minutes ticked by and my coffee disappeared, I became more familiar with the finances of the Knobstone Rifle and Pistol Club than probably ninety percent of its members.
Most receipts came in three times per year—during the membership renewal window, the fundraising drive, and the holiday party raffle. There was a smattering of monthly expenses, like the electric and water bills for the clubhouse. Other expenses, like insurance and property taxes, were paid semiannually.
There were also monthly payments on a mortgage the club had taken out to pay for the fence project.
It was all mind-numbingly mundane. No payments to nebulous-sounding companies for odd reasons. No income from sources I couldn’t identify. From time to time, I came across remittances to “Petty Cash,” but the largest one of those was for forty dollars and there were no more than two or three per year.
I was on my third pass through the pages and ready to call it a day when a thought popped into my head. Sal had told me that Newt was reviewing the finances to determine if the club needed to take a new direction with its fundraising.
According to the records, the fundraiser took place in September and the income was recorded in October. It wasn’t even Valentine’s Day yet. Maybe I was looking for a monster that wasn’t there, but it seemed premature to be looking at fundraising figures only three months after the most recent drive ended.
Where did that leave me? The information indicated a medium-sized, run-of-the-mill social organization that did a laudable amount of charitable work. All the numbers added up.
The numbers adding up didn’t necessarily tell the whole story, though. I didn’t have bank statements. While everything appeared to be on the level, there was no way to confirm whether someone was using the club to launder money.
Maybe that’s why Shelly didn’t want to have anything to do with the ledger. She knew Newt had been cooking the books and didn’t want to get caught up in that spider’s web when it came to light.
Scenarios began swirling in my brain in which Shelly, fully aware of Newt’s fraud, removed the ledger before Ollie came to look at the safe and slipped it back in after he had gone. With other things on her mind, she might have forgotten that it was still there when I asked to inspect the safe. At that point she was busted. Her only way out was to deny any knowledge of it.
But why?
Surely Sal would come looking for it at some point. He’d need it to update the club’s finances sooner rather than later. I rolled my shoulders to release some tension while I puzzled it out. Maybe she was planning on telling Sal she had no idea where the ledger was. The scenario seemed far-fetched, but I’d seen murderers take extreme measures in their attempts to get away with their crimes.
Well, even without the bank records, I had one more move to make. I pulled up the names from Sal’s computer screen that I’d jotted down. I had three full names and one partial. Two of the names turned out to be local businesses, a party supply store and a bakery. They showed up in the ledger. The dates indicated the club had used them for their holiday party. The third name was an individual who also showed up in the ledger.
I couldn’t find the partial anywhere among the ledger entries. Stumped for the moment, I figured I’d written down the information incorrectly. Then I had an idea. I went to the secretary of state’s website and ran a business search on the partial name.
And smiled that my hunch had been spot on.
With a surge of adrenaline, I sent the business report to my computer. The entry in Sal’s spreadsheet wasn’t a partial name at all. It was a word in a different language.
I knew exactly what the translation meant, too.
“You clever devil, you.”
I scratched Ursi behind the ears and dashed for the door. Another piece of the puzzle had clicked into place. And it was a big one.
Chapter Twenty
I was closing in on a breakthrough. The puzzle was still missing a fair number of pieces, though. An entire section I’d yet to assemble revolved around the safe.
There was one person who could help me assemble that section.
As I hustled down the stairs with my bike over one shoulder, I put together a plan. I had one minor issue to resolve first, however.
“Mom, I need to borrow your car for a couple of hours.” During my ride to her office, my mind went back and forth on how to broach the subject. In the end, I decided the direct approach was the best.
She was seated behind her desk, a pair of red-framed reading glasses perched on her nose. After pausing for a moment, she resumed typing away on her laptop.
“There’s a difference between a need and a want, dear child. As one making a living in the literary world, I would think you’d know that.”
Mom was yanking my chain, like Dad used to do. Growing up, he was the one I joked with, while Mom played the straight role. It warmed my heart to see her becoming more comfortable joking with me.
“I do. I want to go to Columbus to talk to someone about something important. I need this information to help solve Newt Arbogast’s murder. Columbus is too far on my bike, so I need to borrow your car. Please?”
After another few moments, she finally looked at me. A half smile betrayed the stern gaze she was attempting to use on me.
“As I recall, yesterday you were chatting with Junior McCormick. He works in Columbus. Is it fair to assume you want to pay him a visit?”
“Indubitably, my dear Watson.” I eased into the chair across from her. “I’m getting closer on this, Mom, and need to talk to Junior before the trail gets cold.”
“Surely you don’t think he did it?” Despite the disapproval in her tone, she reached into her purse.
“His motive seems pretty weak. I mean, bumping someone off because you lost an election to them? That’s a stretch, even for my imagination. But the gun club had a get-together yesterday afternoon in honor of Newt and Junior wasn’t there.”
I told her about what I’d learned after we parted ways the day before.
“What do you hope to gain by bothering Junior?”
My mom was a tough cookie. She made me think, which was good, given the stakes.
“I want to know why he ran against Newt. Was he aware that something funny was going on with the books? On top of that, he knows more about gun safes than anyone I know. I’m convinced he’s got information that can help me, even if he doesn’t realize it.”
“You know I don’t approve of this, yes?” She handed me the car key.
“I do, and I thank you for your understanding.” I blew her a kiss and got out of there before she could change her mind.
Columbus is about twenty miles due east of Rushing Creek. By bike, it would take me over an hour to get there. On a sunny spring day, that wouldn’t be the worst trip ever. On a February afternoon, with the thermometer hanging around forty degrees, it was a nonstarter. Which is why I pledged to fill the car’s gas tank before returning it to Mom.
Thirty minutes after taking possession of the keys, I entered the farm supply store where Junior worked. Before I tracked him down, I spent time perusing the gun safes. A dozen were on display. One was smaller than a typical microwave oven and could be stored in a closet. At the other end of the spectrum was a safe that rivaled a refrigerator in size. When I pulled it open, my jaw dropped. The inside was cavernous.
“You won’t find a better method for storing your firearms, and your valuables, than this model.”
I peeked around the door. The voice belonged to Junior.
“Holy cats, I could live in this.” I stepped inside. There was enough room for me to do a three-hundred-sixty-degree spin with no problem.
“It might get a little warm in the summer.” He held out his hand to assist me out. “Running into you two days in a row. What are the odds?”
I looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. “To be honest, it’s not by accident. I was wondering if I could ask you some follow-up questions from yesterday.”
“A delivery truck’s due soon.” He tapped a radio hanging from his belt. “Until then, I’ll try to answer what I can.”
“Excellent. First off, I’m sorry to bug you about all this at work.” It always helped to soften up folks before peppering them with questions. “I stopped by the gun club yesterday to pay my respects, but I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah.” He looked at the floor, as if checking to make sure the tiles were sufficiently clean. “Couldn’t make it. I was here.”
That was a convenient excuse. And one I could verify without much effort. First things first, though.
“Does this model of safe look familiar?” I showed him a photo of the one taken at the scene of Luke’s accident.
He took my phone to get a close look. Either that, or he was stalling to come up with a cover story.
“A little. Why?”
“Do you sell this safe? I’d like to know where one could get their hands on one just like it.”
“It’s not a model we normally stock. I can check if we have it available online. Come on.”
As I fell in behind him, I pumped my fist. I hadn’t made Junior mad, and he hadn’t ruled out the possibility of getting the safe from his store. This was promising.
At the customer service desk, he keyed information into the system and looked at a flat-screen monitor. I held my breath while his gaze alternated between the monitor and my phone. After an eternity, which was probably only thirty seconds in real time, he turned the monitor so I could see the screen.
“We carry it. It’s an older model. Currently on clearance.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Are you really interested in this or is this more of your research?”
Busted. Well, my smooth sailing with Junior had lasted as long as I could reasonably ask for. Hopefully, I could navigate the choppy waters ahead.
“Fine.” I pointed to the photo. “That’s the safe Newt was found in. There’s an identical one at his house. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. What I’d really like to know is if you have purchase records for either of them. Or, if there’s a record of anyone else in the area buying one?”
He frowned. “This sounds like something the police should be doing.”
I put up my hands, as if in surrender. “I don’t disagree. I’m just trying to help. Rushing Creek doesn’t exactly have a ton of resources, if you know what I mean.”
“If it’ll help.” His hands went back to the keyboard. The click-clacks of the keyboard set my nerves on edge. This could be the break I was looking for.
“Here we are. One was bought here four years ago. It was delivered to Newt’s address. And another one was purchased at an Indianapolis location a few months ago.”
“Any record of how the one in Indy was paid for?”
“Cash.”
“Naturally.” I let out a sigh in frustration. “No way to trace the purchaser.”
Two safes. One in Newt’s house and the other used in his murder. The Indy metro area had a population of over a million souls, though. And it would have been a hassle to drive to Indy, load the safe in the back of a truck, and come back here.
“What about online orders?”
He shook his head. “Nothing in the last year.”
That was a bummer. It was a bit much to hope someone in Rushing Creek would have been foolish enough to order one, then use it to commit murder, and have it traced back to them.
It was time to go, but I had one more question.
“I’ll be honest. Some people think Dr. Flanagan did it. I don’t agree. Do you have any thoughts about who Newt’s enemies were?”
He barked out a laugh as he crossed his arms. A classic defensive posture.
“I could give you a list as long as my arm. The guy thought anyone under the age of thirty was an idiot.”
“Is that part of the reason you ran against him for club president?”
“Look.” He placed his palms on the countertop and fixed me with a hard stare. “The man was past his prime. With him in charge, the club would have been bankrupt in a few years. I think the club should work with people like Dr. Flanagan, not fight with them. Hunters and firearms enthusiasts aren’t the bad guys. We do a ton of good in the community, but people like Newt play into the negative stereotypes people have of us. It’s stupid.”
The timeless Shakespeare quote, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” popped into my head. Despite the difference in genders between the Player Queen in Hamlet and Junior, the quote seemed applicable. It was obvious that he had some serious issues with Newt. But serious enough to resort to murder?
I didn’t know. What I did know was that Junior had access to the same model of safe that was used in Newt’s murder. Whether he’d committed the act was a different matter.
Regardless, I’d obtained all the information I’d come for. To end the conversation on a more pleasant note, I slid a gift card worth ten dollars at Marinara’s toward him.
“Thanks very much for your time. I really appreciate it.”
On the drive back to Mom’s office, I dictated a handful of thoughts into my phone. I had a lot to unpack and didn’t dare wait until later to record my thoughts. There was too much on the line.
A key fact came to me while I was pumping gas. Two identical safes were involved in this case. Not similar, the same. That was driven home by the additional fact they were purchased from the same retailer, albeit at different locations.
It was logical to deduce that wasn’t a coincidence. But did it mean anything?
If I was right, it meant two things. First, it meant the murderer was familiar with the safe in Newt’s house and wanted the same thing. Second, it confirmed my earlier assumption—the crime must have been planned.
The murderer had gone to a lot of trouble to pull this off. That pointed toward someone who’d been angry with Newt for a while. And wanted to put him in his place, both literally and figuratively. It was someone with an analytical mind. Someone who could plan and keep cool under pressure.
Like a computer expert.
By the time I pulled into a parking space at Mom’s office, a few more puzzle pieces had fallen into place. It was time for a return to my Motive, Means, and Opportunity chart. I was confident the chart would help verify something new bubbling to the surface inside my head. It was telling me which way to turn to find Newt’s murderer.
Chapter Twenty-one
I will freely admit that I do a lot of my investigating by the seat of my pants. Yes, I write down things that seem important in a case notebook. I remind myself over and over not to let emotions or bias cloud my judgment. I try with all my might to look at a murder investigation with the same cool detachment I used to review a manuscript submitted by an author looking for me to become their agent.
In a murder investigation, the facts must support the narrative. I looked for clues, established facts, followed lines of inquiry, and drew conclusions based on logic and the evidence I’d accumulated.
With one exception.
And it was a big one.
At the end of the day, I often had to go with my intuition. That was because, unlike with a manuscript, I didn’t have all available information. The facts weren’t placed before me like Hercule Poirot laid them before a group of suspects at the end of one of his investigations.
As I flipped to the page in my notebook to update my Motive, Means, and Opportunity chart, my intuition was telling me to slow down.
My heart was begging me to focus my attention on Shelly. Thanks to the proceeds she’d receive from the sale of the store, she had motive. As the person who lived with Newt, she had opportunity. As for means, she was a diabetic with ample access to a syringe. On top of that, who would know the details of Newt’s safe better than her?
That addressed only one part of the means equation, though. I needed to determine how she’d obtained the drug. And what about opportunity? Had anyone checked out her alibi for Friday night? Just because she said she was at home didn’t make it so.
With those questions unresolved, I moved on to Vic. Getting his claws on Newt’s property to expand the hotel was a gold-plated motive. As far as means and opportunity went, he worked right next door. He could have popped over to see Newt, convinced him to go for a drive, and then done the deed.
But how did he get the xylazine? Did he obtain it on his own or from Shelly? That’s where the rendezvous at the library tipped the scales toward the two of them working in tandem. Maybe that meeting was more than discussing a real estate transaction.
He got the property. She got the cash. They keep their mouths shut and they both win. That kept them at the top of my suspect list.
Next came Junior. His motive, a club presidency, was weak, but the passion he’d shown when talking about it made me think. It was probably the easiest for him to get his hands on the safe used in the murder. And, since he worked at a farm supply store, he might have a customer who worked with animals and could get him the drug.
Then there was Henri. He was competitive and didn’t respond well when he didn’t get his way. If it were true that Elise and Newt had a thing going on, or even if he thought that was the case, I could see him going off the deep end. First, he may not have gotten over Newt putting the kibosh on his art studio. Then, to add insult to injury, how would he have reacted to finding out Newt was messing around with his wife?
That could go from bad to worse in a hurry.
As I analyzed the chart, it was like I was a judge on The Great British Baking Show grading a technical challenge. Vic and Shelly ranked high on motive and means. Junior came out in the middle on means. I had to put Henri at the top when it came to opportunity since he and Newt had been neighbors.
I stared at the chart for a while, then let out a laugh. Elise Bouchard messing around with Newt Arbogast. The urbane artist and the flannel-wearing, yet charismatic, craftsman. On the surface, it was absurd. That was why I needed to look beneath the surface on that issue.
My suspect list was so diverse, it troubled me. With motives so varied, it was a challenge to get a sense of which was the most plausible murderer.
And then there was my newest suspect.
Sal Green.
There sure seemed to be something shady going on with the gun club’s books. Newt’s ledger had made no mention of the mysterious entry in Sal’s spreadsheet, Vert, LLC. The secretary of state search listed Shelly Arbogast as the company’s principal. But the term vert was French for green.
Was Shelly in cahoots with Sal? Or—and this seemed to make more sense—had she and Vic persuaded Sal to help with their plot? If so, what exactly had his role been? And what was in it for him? Was his new rifle really one of Newt’s that had been allegedly stolen?
Ursi leapt onto my lap. After sniffing at the notebook, she bumped her forehead against my hand.
“Apologies for neglecting you, girl.” I scratched one of her ears, then the other. “I keep trying to look at this from different angles, but I hit the same roadblock. How did the murderer get the xylazine?”
She replied with a mrow and jumped onto the notebook. After turning around, she lay down, obscuring the entire page.
“Come on. It’s kinda hard to get anything done with you there.”
Unmoved by my complaint, she stared at me. Her bright golden eyes never blinked.
Since I was at a bit of a standstill and didn’t feel like having a staring contest with my cat, I got to my feet. To get the blood flowing, I did some squats, then a dozen toe touches.
When I was finished, I had a brain blast. Why not go to the source with my questions about the drug?
I sent a text and shrugged into my coat while I waited for a response. When my phone pinged, Ursi vacated her spot on the notebook.
“If I didn’t know better, Little Miss, I’d think you were trying all along to get me to talk to Dr. Cammy. Well done.” I tossed her a kitty treat as a reward on my way out the door.
Getting around town in the best of conditions could be hazardous. Despite my Day-Glo orange vest, head and tail lamps, and a helmet-mounted light, my presence was likely to catch someone by surprise. Even though it was only a three-mile ride to Cammy’s house, one could never be too careful.
Especially with a murderer on the loose who couldn’t be happy with my investigation.
Fifteen minutes and one close call later, I turned into Cammy’s driveway. It was the first time I’d visited her home. And if there was any doubt about how much she cared about animals, the lawn decorations dispelled it.
The mailbox was decorated with a landscape scene populated with cows and sheep. A wooden cutout of a dog sitting next to a cat hung on her door. The welcome mat was inscribed with footprints of pawed, hooved, clawed, and web-footed animals. When I pressed the doorbell, the response wasn’t a standard ding dong, it was a wolf’s howl.
A few moments later, Cammy greeted me with a broad smile. She was wearing a forest green sweatshirt emblazoned with a panda munching on bamboo.
“Allie, come in. I was about to have a glass of wine. Would you like one?” She took my coat and led the way into her living room. “Back in a sec.”
While she was gone, I studied the décor. A recliner in one corner of the room was covered by a cotton throw with a German shepherd design woven into it. A pair of Siamese cats rendered in clay flanked the fireplace. Above the mantel hung a photo of a dense jungle at night. Two glowing eyes peered out from the darkest corner of the print. Even the drink coasters had images of birds on them.
As if there was any doubt, the woman loved animals.
“Here you go.” She handed me a glass of red wine.
I was wary of drinking when I had to get back on my bike, especially since I’d be riding home in the dark. One glass wouldn’t hurt me, though. Besides, it would be rude to turn it down after Cammy had gone to the trouble of pouring it.
“Cheers.” I clinked my glass to hers. “And thanks for agreeing to chat with me on such short notice.”
She gestured for us to take a seat on the couch. The throw pillows on either end featured colorful butterflies. All creatures great and small, indeed.
“Well, the cops have backed off for now. Thanks to you, no doubt. I figured it was the least I could do.”
Whether or not I had anything to do with it, it was good to hear Matt and his team had evidently concluded Cammy hadn’t murdered Newt.
“I hope this hasn’t caused you any problems with the business.” While Cammy was the only vet in town, being accused of murder couldn’t be good.
“It’s been interesting.” She took a sip of her wine. “I’ve had a handful of people cancel appointments. I’ve also seen an uptick of new people calling. I’d say I’m doing okay in the PR game.”
“I’m happy to hear that. I’ll be sure to tell Ursi.” I took a drink instead of mentioning that it was my cat who had urged me to text. Even for me, that sounded a little too bizarre. Maybe I’d mention it when the investigation was finished and the murderer was behind bars.
“So, your message sounded urgent. What did you want to ask?”
“It’s about the xylazine. You said you use it with cats. Can you tell me more about that?”
“Sure. Like I told you all, with cats, I use it as an emetic. In addition to the mistletoe your Ursula got into, an aloe plant and a chrysanthemum are common household plants that can be poisonous to cats. We would want to get that toxin out of her system as quickly as possible. A small dose of xylazine can do the trick by inducing vomiting.”
“Do you do that often?”
“On average, once a week, maybe.” She took a sip of her wine. “In general, it only works if the cat has ingested the poison within a couple of hours.”
“Sounds like an awfully specialized medication. Do you use it for anything else?”
“Yes. Along with the emetic effect it has on cats, it can also be used with both canines and felines as a sedative. I use it when I need the animal to be still, for example, when I need to do a thorough tooth cleaning.”
I snapped my fingers. “So that’s why Ursi was so dopey after visiting you the last time. You cleaned her teeth.”
“That’s right. Good dental hygiene is every bit as important for cats and dogs as it is for humans. House cats often have poor teeth. Without proper care, I often need to remove them.”
My inquisitive mind was fascinated, doubly so because of my life as a cat mama. I needed to reel myself in, though. Cammy had just said something that might help crack the case wide open.
“Okay.” I got to my feet, as I often did when I was thinking. “You just said you use the drug as a sedative. How big would the dose have to be to be fatal to a human?”
“It would depend on the size of the person. In general, I think the literature says a dose anywhere above forty milligrams.” She placed her wineglass on the coffee table. “I keep meticulous records of when I use medications like that, though. I always know how much I have on hand.”
“Except for the vial that was tampered with.” I tapped my foot. “How large is that vial?”
“Fifty milliliters. There’s a hundred milligrams in each milliliter.”
My ears perked up. The connection was almost there. “So, more than enough to do the job. Newt’s wife is a diabetic. She has insulin needles in her house. Could one of those needles be used?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why not. All the murderer would need to know is how to fill a syringe with the stolen xylazine.”
A picture formed in my head of the long arm of the law reaching out to place handcuffs on Shelly. The motive was there. With the syringes on hand, half of the means was, too. All that remained was to figure out how she got her hands on the xylazine.
And where she was Friday night when the murder took place.
Until I had all the puzzle pieces in place, it was foolish to get ahead of myself. Then, I had an idea.
“Who else in the area would use the drug? Are there any other vets who might have needed to borrow some? Maybe that’s how Shelly got her hands on it. Through a third party.”
Cammy shook her head. “Large animal vets, like Dr. Hampton in Franklin, use it. It’s not a medication my colleagues would swap out at the drop of a hat. It’s on the same level as a prescription drug for humans.”
“In that case, we know nobody borrowed the missing medication.” When Cammy nodded, I went on.
“We also know that there’s no evidence of a break-in, correct?” Again, Cammy nodded.
“Could it have been an inside job? One of your staff took it, maybe?”
She grimaced. I couldn’t blame her. The thought of one of your employees stealing from you to help commit murder would be devastating.
“Anything’s possible. The police talked to everyone. That’s six people. They all denied any knowledge of the theft. Same goes for the cleaning crew.”
“Do you trust them?”
“Yes. A lot of my team was there when I took over for Doc Robertson. It took a while for me to gain their trust, and vice versa, but I think the world of everyone on my team. They’d never pull the rug out from under me.”
“You’re sure of that?” I despised myself for asking, but Cammy had come to me asking for my help. I needed to ask hard questions.
She grabbed her wineglass and stared in it while she swirled the wine around in the bowl. Then she took a long drink.
“I can’t be one hundred percent certain. Who could be in this case, though? Why?”
“Because I think the murderer talked one of your employees into nicking the xylazine. It probably came across as an innocuous request at the time. Regardless, it makes whoever did it an accessory to the crime.”
Chapter Twenty-two
It was a good thing, on a purely personal level, that I didn’t have any new releases to celebrate when the alarm went off. Normally, I practically leapt from the bed on Tuesday mornings because so many wonderful books came out that day. This Tuesday morning, I had to drag myself out from under the covers.
The bike ride home from Cammy’s had been uneventful, relaxing even. The brisk temperature had countered the calming effects of the wine the moment I stepped outside. Fully alert, yet pleased with the results of the trip, I enjoyed the tranquility of Rushing Creek as I pedaled home.
The moment I stepped inside the apartment, however, my brain shifted gears and began spinning at the speed of a Tour de France sprinter. Despite meditating for a half hour, snuggling with Ursi, and watching a nature show on butterflies, I couldn’t calm down. The noise coming from above as Gabe moved things around didn’t help. All of which led to a sleepless night.
Ursi glared at me when I shuffled into the kitchen, no doubt displeased with my constant tossing and turning during the night.
“Good morning to you, too.” I filled her food bowl and gave her a few splashes of milk as a peace offering.
Once the coffee finished brewing, I poured a mug and headed for the bathroom for a cool shower. I resisted the temptation to take the coffee into the shower with me. It was a close call, though.
By the time I was dressed, enough caffeine was coursing through my system that the gears in my brain, which had finally run out of steam around five a.m., began to resume turning.
The one good thing about my sleepless night was that by the time I finally nodded off, a workable theory of the case had come together. As I sat down in front of my computer to get agency work done, the theory lingered in the back of my mind, like a pot of chili simmering on a back burner.
I was too distracted for editing, so I spent a few hours finalizing query packages for three authors and sending them out. Once assembled, I emailed each of them to editors the authors and I had agreed upon. After that, I entered the information into a spreadsheet I used to track the queries.
With day-job work caught up, I decided it was time for some fresh air. I would let my feet guide me while my brain analyzed the clues I’d accumulated.
“See you soon, girl.” I dropped a few kitty treats at Ursi’s feet on my way out the door. It was the least I could do since she’d been the one who spurred me to go see Cammy. As I closed the apartment’s door behind me, I couldn’t escape the notion that for some unexplained reason, my cat had a better handle on the case than I did.
Even if that were true, I’d have to muddle through on my own. That darn language barrier between feline and human remained in the way.
I stepped outside and zipped up my coat. I had no destination in mind. I let my subconscious lead the way. Hopefully, it would guide me toward the answers that had so far eluded my conscious mind.
The sun fought against the intermittent cloud cover in an effort to provide some heat to an otherwise dreary day. When it did break through, I stopped and lifted my face toward it. The bright ball warmed my face. The sensation made me smile and gave me confidence that even if I was currently simply wandering, the correct path wasn’t far off.
Before long, I turned from the sidewalk and was facing Soaps and Scents, one of my favorite stores in Rushing Creek. Operated by my friend Shirley Price, the store carried hundreds of natural products to meet every need for the bathroom and kitchen. In addition, it carried an extensive line of essential oils and related products for use anytime, anywhere.
Shirley’s calm-inducing products had helped my battle with sleepless nights in the aftermath of my father’s death. Since then, they’d continued to help me feel good.
The woman herself made me feel better by virtue of her caring nature and endless supply of good advice. Even though she was old enough to be my mom, the generational divide hadn’t gotten in the way of a wonderful friendship.
A cheerful ding dong sounded as I entered the store. Like Pavlov’s Dog, I responded to the signal by stopping and taking in a deep breath. As I did so, my senses were filled with the aroma of peppermint, a scent associated with memory improvement. It gave me an optimistic feeling that my efforts were headed in the right direction.
It also made me want to munch on a candy cane.
A Miles Davis tune was playing on the new turntable Shirly had installed behind the sales counter. She’d told me the analog technology was a welcome return to the days of her youth. Unable to get my head around why folks preferred the decades-old style of listening to music when one could have countless digital songs at their fingertips, I’d given her a thumbs-up and told her to enjoy.
Now, I was beginning to see the allure. The music she played often became a conversation starter, which then led to increased sales. She had a massive catalog of vinyl records on hand and welcomed requests. Shirley liked the music she played, and it was good for business. That was a great combo.
My friend was putting a new line of hand soap on a shelf when I found her. She gave me a hug as she handed me a bar.
“You have got to try this. I found a lovely woman in Bloomington who makes her soaps by hand. It’s all natural and is infused with locally sourced essential oils. This one has tea tree and lemon. You’ll love it.”
I opened the box and took a sniff. “Wow. That ought to wake me up in the morning. How much?”
“For you, it’s on the house. Promise me an honest review?”
“Always.” I pocketed the soap. Since I gave Shirley a steady supply of romance novels, she returned the favor by letting me try products for free. All I asked is that she tell people about her latest reads. All she asked was that I post honest product reviews online.
It was another win-win.
“How’s your investigation going?” She went back to putting items on the shelf, as if asking someone about a murder inquiry was the most normal thing in the world.
“It’s going.” I draped my coat over the sales counter. “I can almost see where I need to go. I’ve got a solid theory but can’t put everything together just yet.”
“So, you know who did it but need more evidence. Is that it?” Shirley bent down to fill empty spaces on a lower shelf.
“More like I’m pretty sure who did it but haven’t figured out how they got their hands on the murder weapon.”
“Would that be the drug the murderer used, or the safe poor Newt was found in?” She shivered. “What a horrible way to meet your maker.”
“Both, actually. Though I have a better handle on how they got the safe.” After making sure we were alone, I told Shirley my theory. When I was finished, I raised my eyebrows. “What do you think?”
“If I understand correctly, you think Shelly and Vic cooked something up and somehow roped Sal into helping them. I get why Shelly and Vic would want to get rid of Newt. It’s unforgiveable, but I can see the twisted logic there. I don’t understand what Sal gets out of the deal, though. And that still doesn’t explain how they got the drug.”
“And that’s my conundrum. I think I can prove they used gun club money to buy the safe. Since Sal’s the treasurer, that means he was involved to some extent. That leaves me asking why. Were they able to hang something over his head that forced him into helping them carry out their plot?”
“If I’ve learned one thing from you, it’s that anything’s possible. Who knows? Maybe Sal and Newt were in cahoots misappropriating the gun club’s money. If Shelly was really that desperate to get rid of her husband and she found out they were doing something illegal together, that might be how she or Vic roped him into being part of the plot.”
I snapped my fingers. “That would explain my weird feeling about the gun club’s books.”
Shirley smiled and handed me my coat. “It sounds like you know what your next step is.”
“I do.” I hugged her. She was such a great friend. “Stay tuned.”
I hightailed it back to the apartment to fetch my bike. For the first time in the case, I knew exactly what I was looking for and precisely where to look for it.
Chapter Twenty-three
Channeling my inner Valkyrie, I burst into my apartment with such force, Ursi hissed at me and scuttled under the couch.
“Sorry, girl. Got a case to solve.”
I dashed into my office and dug my trusty lock pick out of a drawer. My history of using the device to break and enter was a secret and only used for good. As I pocketed the tool, along with a flash drive, I asked Dad to help make sure it remained that way.
Snow had begun to fall while I was in the apartment. Depending on how fast it accumulated, it could turn my quest into a white-knuckle adventure. My bike had knobby, all-purpose tires, but I was still only on two wheels. It wouldn’t take much to wipe out, especially since I was in a rush.
As I buckled my helmet, I debated calling Brent. After a moment, I dismissed the idea. There was no doubt that he’d let me use his truck, but there was a good chance I was going to break the law. It would be wrong to drag him into that mess.
If I was going to take a fall, I was going down on my own.
The snow remained annoyingly steady as I cranked the pedals at a fixed cadence and headed out of town. While turning from State Road 46 onto the road to the gun club, my back tire slid out from underneath me. Years of cycling experience kicked in. I stopped pedaling and steered into the slide just enough to get the bike back into an upright position. Taking care not to overcorrect, I coasted to the shoulder of the road to gather my wits. A few seconds later, a car flashed by on the highway, its driver laying on the horn at me.
Way too close for comfort.
With my heart still banging against my rib cage, I got moving again. A quick glance in the rearview mirror attached to my helmet confirmed no cars were behind me, which gave me a much-needed sense of security. My tires were leaving tracks in the snow, though.
The increasing accumulation would make for tough going on the return trip. Even more reason for me to hightail it to the club, do my business, and get the heck out of there.
I reached the club’s parking lot breathing heavy, but at least without any further incidents. No cars were to be seen. There were no tracks in the snow, which was a good inch deep. I was alone.
So far, so good.
The gate’s padlock was a good-quality model. It wouldn’t be easy to pick. I struggled to finesse the lock open, dropping a few swear words as I worked. Despite my frustration, I had to salute whoever purchased it. The choice to forgo a cheap one was a good call.
In the end, it was no match for me. I let out a triumphant “Yes” when the shackle released from the locking bar. A quick check of the clock on my phone confirmed it had taken me five minutes. The task was done but had taken time I wasn’t sure I could afford to lose. I opened the gate and slipped through with a pledge to practice my lock-picking skills.
Assuming I didn’t get myself tossed behind bars on account of this stunt.
The club grounds were as silent as a cemetery at midnight. The evergreens were obscured by the falling snow. There wasn’t even the flutter of a bird’s wings or the scuttling of a mouse in the brush. The stillness would have been enchanting if I could have taken the time to enjoy it.
There was evidence to gather and a murderer to catch, though.
I took a few minutes to study the clubhouse. The brown coat of paint had been laid on thick. The tan trim around the doors and windows was flawless, without a stray drip anywhere to be seen. The care put into the exterior maintenance showed how much the members cared about this place.
The front door was made of steel. It had two locks. One was in the door handle. A dead bolt was a few inches above it. I made my way around the building, looking for signs of weakness that would make my entry easier. There was a second door in the back of the building. It had two locks, as well. Based on the door’s location, it opened into the kitchen area. A total of seven windows allowed for a lot of natural lighting.
My initial thought had been to pick the front door locks to gain entrance. There was a potential problem, though. The issue with picking a lock is that if it’s not done with care, the internal locking mechanisms can get all muddled. That meant a key might not work in the lock anymore. On top of that, an experienced locksmith would be able to tell that the lock had been messed with.
Time for plan B.
The windows gave me an idea. Rather than pushing my luck with the locks, I could get in through one of them. It was possible somebody had forgotten to lock one down after the last time it had been opened. The screens had all been removed for the winter. That clinched it.
Time was of the essence, so what was the most logical window to have been left unlocked? After a few seconds, I snapped my fingers.
The kitchen.
There had been tons of hot food at Newt’s memorial gathering. Maybe the kitchen had gotten warm, and someone opened a window. As I trotted around to the side of the building, I crossed my fingers my intuition was right.
The clubhouse had been built on a slab, so lucky for me, the window frame wasn’t out of reach. Thanking my lucky stars for that favor, I tried to push it up. The pane budged a few millimeters. Ugh.
“At least it moved. Could be frozen.” I took a deep breath. “One more try.”
The second attempt got the job done. The sash screeched as I pushed it up, but I had my entryway.
Now for step two.
I hiked myself up into the open space and peered inside. The sink was right below me. The fridge was up against a far wall. Yep, it was the kitchen. I’d have let myself bask in a moment of glory if it weren’t for a significant issue.
I was covered in snow.
It would be impossible to snoop around without leaving wet tracks behind. Even after they dried, evidence of my visit would remain. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, as my dad liked to say. I balanced on the window frame while I removed my shoes. Once they were off, I swung my legs onto the counter, straddling the sink. My dry socks would leave nothing behind. Leaving my coat, snow pants, and footwear in the sink, I closed the window, then dropped to the floor. It wasn’t an Olympic Games–type of landing, but I thought Simone Biles would have given me points for trying.
I replaced my outdoor gloves with surgical ones and took a look around. That last thing I wanted to do was leave evidence of my visit by bumping into things.
Once I was ready, I rubbed my hands together. Now for the real work.
From the kitchen, I made my way into the main room. A quick glance at the front door made me shake my head. There was an alarm keypad, but it wasn’t activated.
“Sloppy, folks. You can’t catch burglars if you don’t turn it on.” The members were good people. The last person out the door had probably been laden with leftovers from Sunday’s get-together and figured nobody in their right mind would try to break in to a nondescript building in the middle of nowhere in the middle of winter.
Thank goodness I wasn’t in my right mind. At least, that’s what Mom would say if she knew what I was doing.
I turned my attention to the office. The door was closed but wasn’t locked. Another security failure in my favor. My good fortune wasn’t going to amount to anything if my quarry wasn’t in the office, though. After taking a deep breath, I entered.
“Score one for the girl in stocking feet.” Sal’s laptop was on his desk, right where it had been a few days ago.
Without hesitation, I got seated at the desk. While the computer booted up, I dug the flash drive out of my pocket. The system was password-protected but, once again, the security of the gun club had more holes than Swiss cheese. In seconds, I found a list of passwords written on a yellow piece of paper taped to the bottom of one of the desk drawers.
I got the correct password on the second try. I couldn’t help but wonder how upset Shelly would be with the club’s utter lack of cyber security even though her husband had been president.
It was a question to ponder at another time, though.
Once I had access to the computer files, it didn’t take long to find what I was looking for. There were three folders on the desktop, Membership, Operations, and Outreach. I opened the one labeled Operations.
“Bingo.”
Within the Operations folder, there was another folder labeled Finance. It contained budgets, income statements, and ledgers going back ten years. I slipped the flash drive into a port and copied the entire folder to it.
While the data was being transferred, I nosed around in the other folders. I sat up straight when I came across one labeled Flanagan. It contained a host of documents, photos, and other items regarding the good doctor and her campaign against the club. A few of the emails were disturbing, with not-so-subtle threats against her.
I copied that folder, too.
When I had everything I wanted, I returned the flash drive to my pocket and shut down the computer. It was tempting to start my analysis here, but the sky was getting dark, and the snow kept falling in large wet flakes. It was time to get moving.
On my way out of the office, a four-tier filing cabinet in the corner caught my attention. Examining the contents of filing cabinets had led to trouble in the past, but I couldn’t resist the urge to check it out.
“Won’t get another chance.” I pulled open the top drawer.
I expected to find page after page of paper documents in manila folders. What I didn’t expect to find was a pair of handguns. The hair on the back of my neck rose to attention. I had no idea why, but something told me they didn’t belong to the club. With care, I lifted them out and took pictures of the serial numbers.
The bottom drawer contained even more alarming material. Underneath a stack of club promotional flyers, I came across a book called The Veterinary Care of the Horse.
In the blink of an eye, the puzzle pieces fell into place. I snapped a photo of the book.
My heart started beating like a jackhammer. My fingertips felt like lightning was coursing through them. I needed to analyze the contents of the flash drive. All the evidence I needed was there.
It was only a matter of time until I found it.
I turned to make a dash to the kitchen to retrieve my things, but one of my socks got snagged on a crack in the concrete floor. After pulling free, I gave the crack a close examination to make sure no sock threads were left behind.
“Huh, that’s odd.” The crack was crescent-shaped and about two inches across at its widest point. The rest of the floor was undamaged. I filed the observation away. It might have been significant. It might not. Regardless, it was way past time to leave.
At the front door, I shrugged on my outdoor gear. Thank goodness that during my time snooping the snow covering it had melted and gone down the drain in the kitchen sink. I was confident no traces of my visit were being left behind.
If the law caught up to me, I could claim that I hadn’t stolen anything since all I did was make copies of the computer files. And that since the window was unlocked, I hadn’t exactly broken in. It was all semantics, though.
Once again, I had broken the law.
It had been done in the pursuit of justice, though. If this excursion led to the apprehension of Newt Arbogast’s murderer, the price I had to pay would be worth it.
I opened the door a crack and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. It was just me, so I made a swift exit, making sure the door was locked. Hopefully, nobody would notice only one lock was in use now. Both locks had been engaged before.
My stress level dropped once I was back on my bike and heading toward the parking lot. The tire tracks left a de facto calling card, but nothing could be done beyond hope that no club members stopped by anytime soon.
The padlock at the gate reengaged without the slightest hesitation, as if nobody had touched it. Despite the pressure-packed situation, I grinned when the mechanism slipped into place with an audible click.
My plan would have made Arsene Lupin, the gentleman thief himself, proud. I’d obtained the information I was after. I’d gotten in and out without leaving evidence of my visit. The only thing left was to pull off a clean getaway.
Much to my chagrin, the snow wasn’t going to make it easy.
Chapter Twenty-four
Big wet snowflakes continued their relentless assault as I left the parking lot. I hadn’t been in the clubhouse for long, an hour at most. That was enough time for the roads to turn into a mushy mess. Which made for slow going on my part.
“Just get to Forty-Six,” I told myself over and over as I fought the slippery, mushy conditions. The highway got regular traffic. It would be clear and much safer to ride on.
Provided I got there in one piece.
After what seemed like hours of drudgery-filled pedaling, sliding, braking, and correcting on the snow-covered county road, the highway came into sight. Twenty yards from the intersection I sat up and blew out a long, stress-releasing breath.
The worst was over.
My relief morphed into worry when a vaguely familiar truck, like the one Sal owned, came into view. It was headed west, the direction one would take into town from Rolling Hills State Park.
“Please keep going. Please keep going.” The last thing I needed was to be seen by one of my suspects. Especially in such a vulnerable situation—alone, on a bike, in conditions cold enough to make my teeth chatter.
My trepidation turned into borderline panic when the truck’s turn signal started flashing. A moment later, it slowed and turned, coming to a stop mere feet from me. The driver rolled down the window and waved. It was Sal. For a split second, I debated making a run for it, but my bike was well-known in the area. Even bundled up, folks recognized me when I was out on two wheels. Just as he had done.
I waved back.
“You okay there, Allie? Awfully nasty weather to be out on your bike.” He held out his phone. “Need me to call someone for you?”
He’s just being friendly. Despite what the rational part of my brain was telling me, a knot was forming in my belly. Fortunately, I was an accomplished liar, having learned at an early age the reliable go-to fibs of “I don’t know” and “It wasn’t me.”
“I’m good, thanks. Was getting a little stir crazy and decided to go for a ride to clear my head.” I shrugged and manufactured a laugh for effect. “Guess I should have checked the weather, huh?”
I placed one foot on a pedal and got ready to push off when he opened the door to his truck.
“Let me give you a ride home.” He put one boot on the mushy tarmac. “We can stash your bike in the bed.”
“No, really.” I put my hand up like a crossing guard. “I mapped out a course to ride thirty miles today. I don’t want to bail now, with only a few to go.”
He gave me a long look, then scratched at his chin. At last, he nodded. “Suit yourself.”
As he settled back into the truck, I blew out a breath. The flash drive was begging me to get home ASAP so I could study its contents. I brushed snowflakes from my bike computer and put my foot back on the pedal when he cleared his throat.
“I’m headed up to the club. Did your route take you by? I was wondering if anyone was there I could shoot the bull with.”
I licked my lips as my brain tried to come up with a plausible response. If he saw my tire tracks, he’d get suspicious if I denied being there.
“I pulled into the parking lot to take a drink, but I didn’t see anyone.”
He fired up the truck’s engine. “Okay. Be careful. Wouldn’t want to hear you got hurt right after we chatted.”
“I’ll keep an eye out.” I tapped my rearview mirror and got moving. Finally.
Once I was on State Road 46, I breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t following me. Yet, I couldn’t escape the feeling in my bones that his parting words carried an ominous tone.
I shrugged off the unease and picked up the pace. If Sal was on to me, I’d be safe and sound at home if he came to call.
I didn’t stop pedaling until I turned onto the Boulevard. Once I was within a mile of home, I slowed down and began to collect my thoughts. The moment I got inside, I needed to proceed methodically. There was no doubt in my mind someone had been using the club’s funds to commit embezzlement and fraud.
That someone was either Newt or Sal.
There was also no doubt that Sal, thanks to his years working at the state park, knew how to administer a lethal dose of xylazine to a human. And how much was needed.
So, the final question to be answered was how, exactly, did Sal fit into the murder plot. As I rolled to a stop in front of my building, I hoped the club records would tell me exactly that.
Thanks to the weather conditions, the ride home had been messy. By the time I got inside the apartment, I was a soaking wet mess. The snow, along with a fair amount of road grit and grime that had accumulated on my bike, rubbed off on me while I hauled it up the stairs. Then, I had to dry it off so it didn’t drip all over the hallway’s hardwood floors. Renee was a tolerant landlord, but she wouldn’t abide by me messing up the building’s flooring.
While the attention to the bike was necessary, it cost me time I wasn’t sure I had. If Sal found evidence indicating someone had broken into the clubhouse, he’d come looking for me. While that move would confirm my suspicions of his involvement, it would be small consolation if he tried to get rid of me, too.
I started to shiver while I was in the bathroom stripping off my soaked clothing. Despite my desire to get to the computer right that minute, my body needed warming up, so I took a shower with the hot water turned all the way up.
Ursi joined me while I was getting dressed. She sniffed at me, then gave me a little meh.
“Sorry, girl. I know you’re hungry.” I pulled on the heaviest pair of sweats I owned. “I’ll feed you in a sec.”
Finally, after making sure my bike hadn’t made a mess in the hall, that I wouldn’t go into hypothermic shock, and that my cat wouldn’t starve, I sat down in front of my computer. With a huge mug of steaming hot coffee, of course.
My first task was to determine if there were club members who really were willing to go as far as set up Cammy for murder. It seemed bonkers. Until I began reading some of the email comments about her. They were ugly, vile, and so sexist my jaw dropped to the floor.
Okay, then.
The worst of the comments were from older male club members. Set in their masculine ways, they evidently couldn’t handle a strong, independent woman standing up to them. There was pushback to those sentiments from younger members, especially among the women in the club. I had to tip my hat to those more open-minded folks. Still, a chill went down my spine when phrases like “take her out” and “teach her a lesson” were used.
I made a list of the worst commenters. Neither Newt nor Sal was among them. That wasn’t conclusive, though. It could simply have been that whoever decided to point the finger at Cammy was smart enough to keep their mouth shut.
With the list compiled, I took screenshots of the vilest of the vile. Then I sent the list and screenshots to Matt and Jeanette. Law enforcement needed to know the extent of the threats made toward Cammy. It was wrong and needed to be addressed.
I hit Send, then drained my coffee. Ursi had curled up beneath the desk by my feet. The little angel let out an undignified snore, then flicked an ear. It was all I could do to stifle a laugh. I didn’t want to disturb her. Though I couldn’t wait to tell her what I was doing.
I had no doubt she would approve of my continuing attempts to help her doctor.
Next came the hard part. The financial records. I fetched Newt’s ledger form the closet so I could do a side-by-side comparison of the figures in it with the figures in Sal’s spreadsheets.
Even though I wasn’t a numbers person, I did love a good story. And the numbers told a whopper of a tale.
Sal had been the club’s treasurer for fifteen years. Evidently, nobody else wanted the job so he’d become basically treasurer for life. Newt had been the president for the past five. The ledger covered the most recent three years of his presidency. The first thing that caught my attention were the names of vendors in the computerized spreadsheets who received sporadic payments for “miscellaneous expenses” in the pre-Newt years. They disappeared after he took office.
Curious.
I copied and pasted those entries into a separate spreadsheet for further analysis. While I didn’t recognize the names, something told me they were for services that hadn’t been rendered. Scenes began to play in my head in which Sal created a dummy company that he could have the club pay. Then, he funneled the money through the dummy company back to himself.
Given his post-divorce money troubles, I could see Sal’s motivation for embezzling the funds.
There was no proof yet, though. And it didn’t draw a straight, neon green line to Newt’s murder, either. The entries were going to need some explanation, though.
After a while, shady entries began to appear again. The steady drumbeat of anticipation built inside me as I scrolled down the page. Then my heart almost stopped.
“Holy cats.” I scratched Ursi between the shoulder blades. “I think we have our smoking gun. It’s a payment to the Vert, LLC, company I saw the other day, girl.”
She got up on all fours and gave me a long look, as if she wanted more information.
“Let’s see, there are two, no three, payments to this entity over the last year. Just enough to cover the cost of the safe.”
I snapped my fingers. What if Shelly convinced Sal to funnel money to her or Vic so one of them could buy the safe used in Newt’s murder? That was cold-blooded. Whatever hold they had on Sal must have been powerful. Like, they knew about the past embezzlement and pledged to keep it a secret if he did their bidding.
My hand wanted to go to my phone to call the police. I was so close. Rushing to a conclusion was never a good idea, though. I needed to finish the analysis. After all, I still hadn’t connected the trio with the xylazine.
The nanosecond I do that, I’ll call Matt. That’s the pledge I made as I dug back into the spreadsheets.
Time began to run out on me, both literally and figuratively. I scrolled past the final entry from December of the previous year. I let out a frustrated growl as I scanned the January entries. There were fifteen of them. It seemed like a lot. Definitely more than the transactions recorded during the prior Januarys.
I started with the deposits first. They seemed to be related to the club’s holiday party. That left me with five expenses to analyze.
The electric and water bills were mind-numbingly fine. The next expense made me go, “Huh.”
It wasn’t a large amount of money, only forty dollars. It was the recipient of the payment that made me curious—Rolling Hills State Park. My curiosity went through the roof when I looked at the date of payment—January 28. Mere days before Newt’s murder.
Why would the gun club be making a payment to the state park? During January, no less? My mind sifted through possibilities. The expense would have made more sense during the summer, when the club might have rented a shelter for a cookout.
But during January? I did a quick search on the park’s website. The rental fees didn’t line up with a forty-dollar payment. Something was most definitely rotten in Rushing Creek. And at the Knobstone Rifle and Pistol Club.
“Where’s the connection, girl?” I picked up Ursi and carried her around with me, scratching her chin as I strolled through the apartment.
Sal worked at the park. He paid the park with gun club money. What did he pay for?
Staring out my living room window, taking in the Boulevard below, a thought popped into my head. The book in the cabinet at the club. It was a text on horse care. When I was with the twins, Sal told me he’d worked in the horse barn years ago.
I marched back to my computer for another Internet search. After a few seconds, I had the answer that had been eluding me for so many days.
“Ursi, it’s time to call the cops.”
It was critical to be clear and concise when I spoke to Matt. Arresting someone on suspicion of murder was not something to be taken lightly. Adding an embezzlement accusation only increased the gravity of the situation.
After taking a few moments to meditate, I fetched my computer and ledger and got comfortable on the couch. I wanted to make a point-by-point outline before calling him. Time was of the essence and I didn’t want to waste any by fumbling my explanation.
“We got this, girl.” I patted Ursi on her side. She’d been an invaluable, if unorthodox, partner in this entire affair.
A half hour later, I sat upright and stretched my back and shoulder muscles. The time line made sense. I could check all the Motive, Means, and Opportunity boxes. The facts, evidence, and conclusions painted a heartbreaking story.
A good man had been murdered in cold blood. And a decent woman had been set up to take the fall.
Any empathy I might have for people who find themselves in a difficult situation was overridden by my desire for justice to be done. Taking another person’s life was never an acceptable way to resolve one’s problems.
With relief that the sordid tale was nearing its conclusion, I grabbed my phone. Before I could key in Matt’s number, there was a knock at the door.
If I had to do it all over again, I would have ignored my visitor and completed the call. Of course, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn’t it?
Chapter Twenty-five
I looked at Ursi as my thumb hovered over the Send key. My kitty didn’t seem perturbed by the unexpected visit, so I put the phone down. Brent liked to make surprise visits with dinner in hand, so I didn’t want to make him wait until I finished what would likely be a lengthy conversation with Matt.
Things had been so hectic that I’d barely spoken to my beau the past few days. As I put my hand on the doorknob, I made a resolution to spend more time with him. It was wrong to take him for granted. That would change starting now.
“Hey, baby,” I said as I pulled the door open. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place . . .” The rest of the question died on my lips. My cheeks started burning like they were molten lava.
“I mean, hi, Sal.”
I coughed into my fist and straightened up a little taller in an attempt at a recovery from my mortifying mistake. First out riding in the snow. Next, greeting a man who was old enough to be my father in a totally inappropriate way. He was going to think I needed help for my mental health.
“Hey, there, Allie.” He glanced to the left, then the right. With my behavior, I’d made the man more nervous than Ursi when she was at Dr. Cammy’s office waiting for her annual vaccinations.
Then I glanced over my shoulder. My gaze went to my phone. It wasn’t my antics that had him looking around.
“So, this is quite an unexpected surprise.” I eased one shoulder behind the door in as casual a manner as I could muster. “What brings you by?”
“I found something in the club’s parking lot. Thought it might be yours.” He showed me a key. “Figured you must have dropped it when you were taking your break.”
No such thing had happened. Which begged the question, why was he here? Despite an urge to close the door in his face, my curiosity got the best of me. Maybe he wanted my help to break free of Shelly and Vic’s clutches. I gestured for him to come in.
“It’s possible. Let me look.” It was an unremarkable piece of metal. A silver key with a round head, it could have fit any number of locks.
Like the one at the club’s gate.
My hand holding the key began to tremble. I dropped it when I tried to give it back and the stupid thing clattered off the hardwood floor until it came to rest under the coffee table.
“Better get that before Ursi bats it somewhere I can’t get to.” I scrambled under the table as a trail of cold sweat ran down my back.
By the time I was back on my feet, Sal was looking at my laptop.
“Nice setup you’ve got there. What do you keep on the flash drive?” His hand moved toward the computer.
I slammed the device closed. After taking a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves, I shoved the key in his hands.
“Thanks for coming by, but that key doesn’t belong to me. I have a call with a client in a minute, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave, please.”
Turning toward the door, I recited a quick prayer that my suspicions about him had been wrong.
Before I could take a step, Sal grabbed me by the wrist. His grip was like a steel bear trap digging into my radius and ulna. Evidently, those suspicions had been spot on.
“You wanna tell me why you have confidential club information on your computer?” He squeezed harder. For an older, wiry guy, his strength was intimidating.
I tried to yank myself from his grip. The only thing that accomplished was nearly popping my shoulder out of its socket.
“You want to tell me why you’ve been embezzling from the club?” My anxiety had subsided, replaced with a red-hot ball of anger. “Come on. Spill it. Do your fellow members know what you’ve been up to? Is that why you murdered Newt?”
With a ferocity I’d never seen in the man, Sal drove me into the door with his forearm. He stared at me with unblinking bloodshot eyes. If I hadn’t been so surprised, I’d have been quaking in my walking shoes.
Actually, I wasn’t surprised. I was furious.
How dare this man come into my home and try to hurt me? How dare he steal from his friends? Above all, how dare he take another man’s life?
Because that’s what he’d done. Now, there was no doubt about it in my mind. I let out a growl as I pushed back against him. With the door bracing me, I drove my shoulder into his midsection. My momentum carried me over him as he fell to the floor, flat on his back.
I rolled to my feet and dashed to the far side of the coffee table, putting it between me and him.
He struggled to his feet and wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth. Then he chuckled. “There’s no way out unless you go through me. And that’s not going to happen.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, old man.” I was baiting him. If needed, I could always make a hasty exit down the fire escape. That would leave Ursi alone with this murderer, though. As Brent’s favorite movie slacker was fond of saying, this aggression would not stand.
“When I leave this apartment, I’m going out that door.” I jabbed my finger over his shoulder. “And I’m dragging your sorry hide along with me.”
“In that case, you’ve forced my hand.” He withdrew a small, thin package from his jacket pocket. “A needle. Taken from Shelly Arbogast’s stash. Wanna guess what’s in my other pocket?”
“A ring that makes you invisible? And will corrupt you to the core? Or already has, that is?” His confused expression in response to my Lord of the Rings reference gave me a little boost of confidence. I took a step toward Sal.
“So, here’s how I think it went down. Money got tight around the good old Green household. State tax revenue isn’t what it used to be, and a state employee like yourself probably hasn’t had much of a raise, if any, in years. Meanwhile, the cost of living kept going up. And then you add in the divorce and child support.” I shrugged. “You needed to find a way to fill a gap that kept growing wider and wider.”
“What would you know about money being tight? Between your mom, the all-knowing doctor, and your dad, the hot-shot agent, you had it as good as anybody growing up.” He waved his arm like a Price is Right model. “Look at this place. I’ll bet you’ve never had to worry about how you’re going to pay for your kid’s medicine or school expenses.”
He knew nothing about me, especially about how for so many years my diet included an outsized amount of ramen and mac and cheese to stretch my food budget as far as I could. It didn’t matter. That was a distraction I wasn’t going to fall for.
“Embezzling from your employer was too risky, so you saw an opportunity by becoming the gun club’s treasurer. You had a nice game going until Newt became president. Then, you had to bide your time until you could pick up the scam again. Only this time, you were better prepared. You started keeping two sets of books.”
“Two sets of books?” He barked out a laugh, but there was a tiny wobble in it. “You’ve been reading too many stories.”
“Yeah, and you’re the author of one of them.” I’d slid Newt’s ledger under the couch when I finished my analysis. I pulled it out and held it in front of me like a shield. “Look familiar? It was in Newt’s safe. You know, the twin to the one you stuffed his body into.”
He shook his head and took a step back, as if his brain needed a reboot. Pressing my advantage, I stepped toward him.
“You screwed up. Newt was on to you, so you created this piece of fiction to lead him astray. It threw him off the scent for a while, but he got suspicious again, didn’t he? You’re a bad liar, by the way. He wanted to look at the books to see if you were cooking them again. That’s why you gave this to him.”
I took a step toward the door. If I could outflank him, I could use the ledger for protection while I made a mad dash for the door. Once I was out in the hall, I could holler for Renee. The walls were so thick in this old building, trying to do it now would be pointless.
He moved to cut me off. It had become a game of human-sized chess.
“Even if you’re right, there’s no way to connect me to the murder weapon. That vet is the only person who had access to the drug that killed Newt.”
“Good try.” I moved to my far right. That way, I could take a straight shot at the door. “I should have picked up on your plan when the kids and I visited the horse barn.”
He looked to his right, then to his left. Apparently unsure of my plans, he backed up. “I was nice to you and those rug rats. You should be more appreciative of that. But no. You think you can do no wrong. Allie Cobb, social justice warrior. You can take your vigilante justice and go all the way back to New York for all I care. This town was better off before you started sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Nice bit of monologuing, there.” I laughed as I backed away. I wanted to have a full head of steam by the time I made contact with Sal. The only way out was going to be through him, so I was going to need every bit of kinetic energy I could muster. “You made a mistake, though. Don’t ever bring my niece and nephew, or any kid, into a conversation like this.”
With that, I let out my best imitation of a lion’s roar and charged straight for Sal. I’d done enough roughhousing with the twins to know how to take someone down without hurting them. And more importantly at the moment, how to avoid hurting myself.
I kept a low profile, so my left shoulder rammed into his ribs. As the air whooshed out of him, I wrapped my arms around his midsection and took him down. Before he had a chance to react, I bounced to my feet, ready to make my escape.
My victory was tempered by the fact that he’d landed with his legs blocking the door.
“Good try, kid. Not good enough, though.” He still had the needle. He tore open the package with his teeth as he got into a crouch. With a menacing grin, he reached his free hand into his jacket.
“You’re tough. Not tough enough for this.” He pulled his hand out. It was holding a small glass bottle. As he pushed himself to his feet, he stabbed the needle into the top of the bottle.
It didn’t take a pharmacologist to know what was in it.
“Don’t make this worse for yourself, Sal.”
“I did it once. I can do it again. You’re small enough, after I finish you off, I should have enough left over for your cat.”
I wasn’t going to let that happen. I took another run at him. With his attention divided between me and the vial of xylazine, he was vulnerable.
And foolish.
A trapped animal is often one of the most ferocious creatures on the planet, regardless of size. It will stop at almost nothing to free itself. I was that trapped animal.
I plowed into him with my right shoulder this time. He went down but managed to take me with him. Before I could get away, he clamped a hand around my ankle.
He brandished the needle overhead, like a knife that he intended to plunge into me. There was no better time to put my new kickboxing move into action. I took a deep breath and rammed my forehead against his.
My skull crashed against his with an audible smack. As he let out a grunt, my vision constricted to nothing but a small circle of stars.
Then a low-throated growl that sent shivers down my spine came from behind me. A second later, a black and orange streak shot past me and landed on Sal. Ursi clawed, scratched, and bit Sal with a ferocity that would have made a Siberian tiger proud.
In his attempt to ward off my furious feline, Sal let go of my ankle. The more he shouted at her and tried to wriggle free, the deeper her fangs and claws went. Whatever injuries he was suffering he’d brought on himself.
Once I had my hand on the door handle, I called to my feline. There was no way I was leaving without her. Especially after she’d come to my rescue.
“Ursi, let’s go. Now!” I yanked open the door and followed her as she streaked into the hall. The microsecond we were clear of the apartment, I slammed the door shut. We were out of danger.
For now.
Chapter Twenty-six
“Renee!” I pounded on my landlord’s door. There was no answer. “Come on, Renee. Please be in in there.”
Sal’s injuries were no doubt painful, but hardly life-threatening. He’d be out in the hall in a second. We needed to get moving.
But where to?
Without a car, outside was less than ideal. It was frigid, and trying to run with Ursi in my arms was asking for my own set of injuries from my frightened cat. Well, needs must.
I scooped Ursi up, thankful I had a heavy fleece on and headed for the stairs. Then I heard a door open upstairs.
“Someone there?” It was a male voice. One that belonged to a Rushing Creek police officer.
I dashed up the stairs and ran to Gabe. He was wearing a gray Indianapolis Colts T-shirt and blue jeans. Hardly law enforcement attire, but it didn’t matter. I brushed past him and crumbled to the floor in his apartment.
Ursi was trembling in my arms like I’d never seen before. She’d been fierce when I needed her. Now, she was as vulnerable as I was.
“Allie, what’s going on?” Gabe got down on one knee and put his hand on my shoulder. “What’s happened?”
“I was wrong.” I was sucking air like I’d just finished a sixty-minute kickboxing session. It was tough to speak.
“About what?” He faced me and used his index finger to lift my chin until we made eye contact. “Talk to me. What were you wrong about?”
“Newt’s murderer.” I shook my head. “It’s not Shelly or Vic. It’s Sal. He’s downstairs, in my apartment. Right now.”
Gabe stared at me for a moment, apparently assessing whether I’d lost my marbles. After a glance at Ursi, whose tail was as bushy as a feather duster, he nodded.
“Stay here. I’ll check it out.” He grabbed a radio and his gun. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”
When the door clicked shut behind him, my shoulders sagged in relief. I gave Ursi a squeeze then released her.
She sniffed the air while she checked out Gabe’s living room. When her surveillance was complete, she crawled onto my lap. Her antics made me smile, despite my tears.
“I feel safe here, too.”
A few minutes later, Gabe returned.
“Your door was open. There was no sign of Sal.”
His radio crackled to life. It was Matt on the other end. Gabe stepped away and relayed a physical description of Sal along with the information I’d initially provided.
“He tried to stab me with a needle full of xylazine. The same batch he used to kill Newt.” I got to my feet. Now that the immediate threat was over, the fight instinct was returning. “He’s desperate.”
Gabe gave me a thumbs-up. “Suspect was last seen approximately five minutes ago. He should be considered armed and dangerous. If sighted, approach with caution.”
They exchanged a few words in cop lingo before I could insert myself in the conversation. “He either went to his house, the gun club, or the horse barn at the state park.”
“Officer Abbott’s on the way to his home. What makes you say the other places?” Gabe donned a Rushing Creek PD sweatshirt, then strapped on a flak jacket.
“I think he’s the one who stole Newt’s guns. I’m fairly sure he stashed them at the club. He could hole up there for a while until he figures out his next step. There’s an office at the horse barn. He could hide out there, too.”
“Good thinking.” He told Matt to check out the gun club. “I’ll look at the horse barn. It’s safe for you and your cat to go back to your apartment. We’ll be in touch as soon as we know something.”
“No way. I’ll drop off Ursi on the way, but I’m coming with you.” I blocked the door. The irony of the move wasn’t lost on me.
“Allie, we don’t have time for this.”
“I agree. But for all we know, he could be hiding nearby, ready to take another run at me the minute you leave the building.”
Gabe ran his fingers through his short hair. Yes, I was putting him in a tough spot, but I didn’t feel safe until Sal was in custody.
More importantly, I was certain I could be an asset when it came time to apprehend Sal.
• • •
“Why do you think he’ll be at the barn?” Gabe was behind the wheel of his truck. We were barreling down State Road 46, the park’s main gate a minute or two away.
I was in the passenger seat, flipping through my case notebook to see what I’d gotten wrong that led to my initial wrong conclusion. It was tough. The state road’s curves were magnified by the vehicle’s high speed. It made me feel like I was on a roller coaster.
“I don’t think he did a runner. He needs to sit tight for a bit while he figures out what to do next. It’s big, has a lot of dark nooks and crannies, and straw he could bury himself under. The horse barn would be a logical place to hide out.”
Gabe responded with a noncommittal grunt, perhaps mulling over my supposition. All I had to back it up was a hunch. Nothing more. Then again, following my gut had led to the capture of a handful of murderers.
Hopefully, the streak would continue.
After what seemed like an eternity, the park’s entrance came into view. Gabe slowed, but made the turn so fast I’d swear in a court of law that the passenger-side tires lost contact with the road.
An attendant had raised the gate. His arm spun in a circle like the blade of a wind turbine as he waved us through.
“Guess the chief called ahead.” He tapped the brakes as he lowered his window. “Has Sal Green been through this gate in the last thirty minutes?”
“No, sir. But there’s an employee-only entrance on the south end of the park. If he’s here, he might have come in that way. Do you mind me asking why you’re looking for him? I might be able to help.” The gate attendant, a skinny young man with ginger hair and a bad case of acne, flashed an eager grin.
“I don’t mind a bit, Bryan. I’ll give you an answer later.” He tipped his hat. “Thanks for the info.”
The vehicle leapt forward as Gabe floored it. Now that we were on park roads instead of a highway, we navigated the curves more slowly. The snow hadn’t been cleared on these lanes. We couldn’t afford a crash.
The police radio squawked to life. It was Tommy reporting he’d searched Sal’s home. Nobody appeared to be there.
“That’s one down. Hope you’re right about this. Where’s the barn?”
“Take the next right. We’ll go down a hill, then follow a long, sweeping curve to the left. Once the road straightens out, we’ll go about a mile to a crossroads. The barn will be on our right.”
“Is there any other way to get there?” Gabe asked as we took the turn. “If he’s there, he’s bound to see us coming.”
Gabe didn’t have to finish his thought out loud. Sal had enough firearms to his name to keep us at bay. Coming in the way I’d suggested put a bright red and white bull’s-eye on us.
“I don’t know of any other way. This is how we came when I brought the twins the other day.”
“Stealth mode it is, then.” Gabe turned the headlights off. We were far from invisible, but I was happy to take any advantage we could get. The engine was quiet, too.
“Is this thing a hybrid?”
“Score one for the lady in the passenger seat. In my younger days, I thought the louder the ride the better. My parents talked me into getting this. Said I’d save a ton in gas.” He turned the steering wheel as the road straightened out. “They weren’t wrong.”
My heart began to race as we rounded the bend and started downhill. “Not much farther now. How do you want to do this?”
He brought the truck to a stop and cut the engine.
“Here’s how I’m going to do this. You—”
“Are going to come along.” I pointed at the windshield. “It’s dark. Sal’s armed and dangerous. I’ll watch your back and can call for help, if needed. Nothing more.”
Before he could respond, I vaulted out of the truck. As my vision adjusted to the darkness, the surroundings came into focus. The precipitation had stopped, leaving in its wake a thick covering of clouds overhead and a few inches of snow under my boots.
Everything was lit in an ethereal glow. Trees stripped of their leaves lined both sides of the road, hemming us in like living walls. The white lettering of a stop sign stood out in the dim light reflected off the snow.
Beyond the stop sign, the barn loomed dark and gray. I crept forward, daring Gabe to corral me. Farther on down, along the side of the road, the outline of a truck became visible.
“That’s Sal’s truck.” Gabe had crept up beside me. His firearm was drawn. With his free hand, he handed me a Maglight, then nodded toward the barn. “Stay behind me. I don’t need you getting hurt on account of your being bullheaded.”
I opened my mouth to argue but came to my senses before uttering a word. Gabe was right. He was the trained professional. Until he had a chance to assess the situation, I’d do more harm than good if I went off half-cocked.
We stayed low, stopping every now and again to listen for sounds coming from the barn. As we proceeded, I ticked out a text message to Matt, apprising him of the situation.
I didn’t mention I was an active part of the search.
He responded with three letters.
“OTW.”
At the stop sign, I showed the response to Gabe. “If we wait for the cavalry, we’re just giving him time to barricade himself in.”
“I suppose it’s pointless to ask you to stay here so you can direct the chief when he gets here.” He scratched his chin. “Why bother asking? Okay, we make a run for the truck. Stay down. Once we’re behind it, I’ll determine the next move.”
On the count of three, we made our move. We’d almost made it when the silence was broken by a thunderous crack from a firearm. I dove behind a tire while Gabe yanked open the driver’s door to give us protection from more than one direction, if needed.
“That shot came from the barn. That was dumb to give his position away like that.” Gabe was breathing hard but radiated calm. “I’m going to try to talk him down.”
While I remained hidden behind the truck, Gabe crept into the cab.
“Holy smokes.” He leaned his head out. “The keys are in the ignition.”
A second later, a motorized whir came from the passenger side. He’d lowered the window. It was a slick move. One that gave him cover while providing an opening through which to communicate.
“Be careful. He’s not thinking clearly. Otherwise, he’d have driven the truck into the barn and closed the door behind him. And the window gives him a frame to use if he tries to shoot at you again.”
“Acknowledged.” Gabe cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sal Green, it’s Rushing Creek Police. Please respond.”
I held my breath while I waited for a response. It came in the form of another gunshot.
“Why not just start the engine and rush him?” I got up and turned on the flashlight, hoping I might catch a glimpse of Sal. “Beats sitting on our hands.”
“There he is!” Gabe fired up the engine. I hopped into the bed before Gabe could go on without me.
Sal was running into the barn. While he had his back to us, we were safe. The farther he went into the dark chasm of the structure, the more difficult it would be to ferret him out. He’d be more dangerous than ever once he found a hiding place.
“Hurry it up. Use the brights.” I shouted other instructions at Gabe while I riffled through the utility box attached to the truck’s bed. I was looking for a gun for my own protection. In case things went south.
The truck came to a halt at the barn’s entrance. The doors were open wide enough for a person to get through, but that was it. There was no time for discussion. I leapt out and yanked on one door. As soon as the opening was wide enough, Gabe rolled inside. I followed, keeping within inches of the tailgate.
The final chapter of this heartbreaking tale had arrived.
“Green! Come out with your hands where I can see them.” Gabe’s command bounced around the old wooden structure.
The echoes sent a chill down my spine. The barn was as large as the gym at Rushing Creek High School. The rafters created ominous shadows as the beam from my flashlight went back and forth like a light saber. Unable to figure out which direction was best, I remained rooted in place.
A horse’s whinny got me moving.
I made my way along a wall until my fingers came upon a switch. I flipped it. Overhead lights flared to life, increasing in intensity as they warmed up.
With his gun held out in front of him, Gabe dashed toward the first horse stall on the left.
After a quick look, he shook his head and went to the next one. This was going to take way too long.
“He’ll be in the office,” I told Gabe after coming up alongside him. “There was no time to hide under a pile of straw. At the end of the barn. Come on.”
A few seconds later, we were at the office door. It was closed. Gabe gave the handle a small twist. Unlocked.
We made eye contact. He held up three fingers, pointed at me, then held out his hand like a stop sign. Next, he pointed at himself and followed that by gesturing toward the door.
I nodded. Message received. I’d stay put until further notice.
On three, Gabe open the door and barged into the room, shouting for Sal to surrender. For a few excruciating moments, the only sound coming from the room were Gabe’s footfalls on the concrete floor. Then he dropped a curse word.
“Allie, I need you. Now.”
In a flash, I was at his side. At first, I couldn’t make sense of the scene. Gabe was down on one knee, next to Sal. The older man was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back against the far wall. His eyes were closed, his head lolling to one side. The cop’s fingers were pressed against the older man’s neck.
“I can’t get a pulse. Call nine-one-one.” He lay Sal flat on his back and began chest compressions.
As I waited for a dispatcher to answer my call, my heart fell. The bottle of xylazine was in one of Sal’s hands. A syringe was on the floor, a few inches away. I took a close look.
They were both empty.
Years of crisis response experience took over. When the dispatcher came on the line, I explained in a calm voice the situation and gave her a detailed description of where we were.
All the while, I watched, helpless, as Gabe worked valiantly to keep Sal alive. I’d witnessed a lot of bad things in my life. I’d never had a front-row seat while someone’s life ebbed away from them, though.
I could only hope that through the grace of God and the incredible efforts of Gabe, I wouldn’t be a witness to Sal’s death.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Gabe kept at the chest compressions, practically willing Sal to stay alive through the sheer force of his oath to serve and protect.
“Come on, come on. You’re not taking the easy way out.” He looked from Sal to me. “Check his pulse. I don’t want to risk anything by stopping too long.”
I searched for Sal’s carotid artery with my index and middle fingers, just as Mom had taught me. Eventually, I felt a slow pulsating against my fingertips.
“Got something. It’s barely there, but it’s steady.” I set back on my haunches and wiped sweat from my brow. “Ambulance will be here soon.”
It looked like Sal would make it.
The man was an embezzler, thief, and above all, a murderer. I didn’t want him to die, though. I wanted him to face the consequences of his actions. And I wanted an explanation for those actions. Because they’d been extreme.
Gabe had stopped the compressions but had his fingers around Sal’s wrist, no doubt making sure the man’s heart kept beating. He gave me a long look, then cracked a half smile.
“Good work. Thanks for having my back.” His radio squawked. Matt had arrived at the park gate. “Why don’t you meet the chief out front? It might help us avoid uncomfortable questions.”
“Roger that.” I snapped off a salute. And left Gabe to tend to Sal.
Each step I took was an exercise in hard labor. My muscles ached, my head pounded, my nerves were shot.
My heart was also filled with gratitude.
Gabe had accepted my help, albeit begrudgingly, and we’d accomplished the mission. He’d listened to me, but also took charge when the circumstances dictated. On top of that, he recognized that my presence at the scene would need explaining.
If Matt found me in the room where it happened, as it were, Gabe and I could find ourselves in a lot of hot water. At least we would be avoiding that issue.
All the hullabaloo had disturbed the horses, so I stopped on my way out of the barn to scratch the muzzles and offer soothing words to Shea and Aidan. By the time I reached the barn door, my head had stopped pounding. And I’d come up with an explanation for Matt.
A minute later, the chief’s headlights came into view. The second his tires came to a stop, I opened the vehicle’s door and filled him in on the situation.
“Gabe’s with him.” I pointed toward the back of the barn. “I’ll stay here for the EMS folks.”
He scowled as he zipped up his coat. “You shouldn’t be here, Allie.”
“I know.” My breath crystallized as I let out a sigh. At the same time, I began to shiver. Now that the immediate crisis was over, my body was clueing me in to how cold it was.
“I didn’t feel safe by myself until I knew you all had caught Sal, so Gabe let me ride along with him. I stayed in his car until I heard a gunshot. I was scared he might be hurt, so I came to see if I could help. When I got here, he was giving Sal CPR.”
“Of course you stayed put. I’ll verify your story with Officer Sandoval. We will talk later.”
The ambulance arrived as Matt entered the barn office. I gave the paramedics an update on Sal’s condition and confirmed an overdose of xylazine while I led them to the scene.
The paramedics got straight to work. In seconds, they had an IV line in one of his arms. While one placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, the other called the hospital to alert them to have a dose of tolazoline and sodium nitroprusside ready. The combination would reverse the effects of the xylazine overdose. From my vantage point in the doorway, it was like a choreographed dance. By the time they were ready to get their patient on the gurney, I wanted to applaud their grace under pressure.
Once they were ready to transport Sal, Matt took charge. “Officer Sandoval, please follow the ambulance to the hospital. I’ll join you there after I interview Ms. Cobb.”
When we were alone, Matt fixed me with a stare so icy I would have been warmer outside. I’d been through this routine before, though, so I stared right back at him.
Eventually, he turned away and made a phone call. “The suspect is on his way to the hospital. I need park staff here while Officer Abbott collects evidence. He should reach the gate any time.”
Once the call was complete, he took a seat on a bale of straw. “What am I going to do with you? On second thought, don’t answer that. Instead, tell me why Sal Green showed up at your apartment today.”
“He murdered Newt Arbogast. He wanted to do the same to me.”
Apparently stunned into silence by my answer, Matt took his time unrolling a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth. He chomped down a few times, then pulled a notebook from his breast pocket.
“And how, exactly, do you know that?”
I told him about the two sets of gun club financial records he was keeping and how the bogus ledger was at Newt’s house when he was murdered.
“Sal had been embezzling from the club for years. Newt got wise to what he was doing. That’s why he had the bogus ledger. Newt was looking for proof. Sal killed him before he could blow the whistle.”
“Assuming you’re correct about the embezzling issue, why didn’t you turn the ledger over to the appropriate parties, how’d he get the xylazine, and how does the safe come into the picture?”
He tapped his pen on a page in the notebook. With each question, the force of the tap increased. By the time he asked the last question, the pen was functioning more as a drill rather than a writing instrument.
I got that he was upset. It was late in the day. He’d been working nonstop for over a week. It wasn’t that he was trying to intimidate me. He’d tried that in the past. And failed.
Now, he was simply tired.
I licked my lips before answering. He wasn’t going to like my first response. Not one little bit.
“The ledger was in Newt’s safe. I visited Shelly the other day. When she let me look in the safe, I found the ledger. Your guy Ollie missed it when he conducted the search after the guns were reported missing.”
The chomping down on the gum came to an immediate halt as Matt’s jaw practically hit the floor. Then he dropped a combination of swear words that made me glad the twins were nowhere close by to hear their daddy talk in such a way.
It was an impressive display. One I hadn’t heard since my days living in New York.
“That still doesn’t tell my why you didn’t hand it over when you came across it.”
“Don’t make this about me. This is about one of your officers who was too lazy to conduct a thorough search. At that point, I wasn’t certain how the department would respond to me showing up one of its officers.” The words were out before I could rein them back in. Well, I was tired, too. And I’d been attacked.
“That was a cheap shot.” He flipped to a new page in his notebook and wrote something down. “I promise you I’ll have a private word with Ollie.”
For now, that was the closest I was going to get in terms of an apology. It was time to move on.
“I didn’t want to bug you about the ledger until I had all my ducks in a row.”
“And when was that going to be?” He lowered his head and rubbed his temples, like one of my elementary teachers who wasn’t buying a story I was telling her.
“Tonight, actually. I was finishing my analysis when Sal showed up at the apartment.”
Just then, a green truck with an Indiana State Parks logo on the side rolled to a stop by the barn entrance. Matt put his index finger up to let me know our conversation wasn’t over. When I nodded, he marched over to the truck.
Since I had some time to myself, I visited the horse named Lucy. She was the smallest of the group. Her relatively diminutive stature made her less intimidating than the others. I spoke to her in gentle tones, telling her how good of a horse she was. She was magnificent. So large and muscular, yet capable of the most graceful of movements. The staff took good care of the horses.
At that moment, I would have been happy to trade places with Lucy. A straightforward, uncomplicated life sounded like the way to go.
Matt joined us a few minutes later. While the horse and I were visiting, Tommy had arrived. He was lugging an evidence collection kit to the barn office.
“I’m going to take you home. We can finish our conversation on the way.” He turned on his heel and headed for his cruiser, expecting me to follow without objection.
I wanted to tell him I’d call someone for a ride. Then I imagined how that conversation would go depending on who I called. Mom would be upset at me for putting myself in danger. Brent would be disappointed I didn’t ask him to come and stay at the apartment with me. Luke would be here right away. It was past his bedtime, though.
No, the correct answer was to take my medicine and hitch a ride with Matt.
He didn’t speak until the attendant had waved us through the park’s gate.
“How’d the safe come into play?” He wasn’t interested in small talk, apparently.
“I think Sal was envious of Newt’s and wanted one just like it. He created a dummy corporation called Vert, LLC. Vert’s French for green. He cut checks from the gun club’s account to Vert. Then he cashed the checks and used the money to pay cash for the safe. At some point, Newt busted him. I think he moved the safe to the gun club Friday evening. He lured Newt there by offering to let the club use the safe until he could pay it back. Then he killed him.”
“Huh.” Matt scratched his chin. “If you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—that’s good detective work. How’d you piece that together?”
I told him about my conversations with Junior. “To be honest, I considered Junior a suspect for a while. That’s why I talked to him in the first place. The final clue was a crack in the clubhouse floor. It’s circular. The same shape as the foot of a heavy piece of furniture. My guess is it’s from the weight of the safe.”
The lights of Rushing Creek became visible in the distance, like a beacon guiding sailors into port on a dark night. I was relieved this dark night was almost over.
“And the xylazine? How’d he get his hands on it? I mean, it’s a prescription drug, after all.”
“He paid someone at Dr. Flanagan’s office. I think if you lean on the staff, you’ll get a confession.”
“What? Someone stole it for him?” Matt made a turn onto the Boulevard. I was almost home and couldn’t wait to hug Ursi. My feline hero.
“No. He was craftier than that. He told one of the staff members there was an emergency with one of the horses at the park and convinced them to sell him the contents of a vial. I’m sure he promised to replace it later.”
“Okay, say you’re right. How’d he pay for it without raising any suspicions?”
“He used the state park’s petty cash account. Then he replaced the funds by writing a check for forty dollars from the gun club, so everything balanced out.”
We came to a stop in front of my building. Matt massaged the muscles at the base of his neck. No doubt, he was looking for holes to punch in my theory.
“I’m gonna need you to hand over that ledger. Now.”
“With pleasure.” After a quick search of the apartment that confirmed Ursi was okay, I gave Matt the book. “You might want that wrapper by the door, too. The syringe Sal tried to use on me came in it.”
He donned a pair of latex gloves and deposited the piece of plastic in an evidence collection bag.
“We’ll check it for prints. Anything else that can confirm he was here?”
“My laptop. It’ll have his fingerprints on it.” The flash drive was still in the USB port. That was probably going to elicit a few questions.
“Do I want to know what’s on this drive?” Matt raised his eyebrows. Questions, indeed.
I debated a plausible cover story but decided against it. Taking chances with the truth seemed like the better path.
“The club’s financial records. And the source materials for the info I sent you earlier about the threats against Cammy.”
“And how in the world did you obtain that?”
“I copied them from the computer at the clubhouse.”
“So, am I to believe that you walked right in, got into the computer without hacking it, and walked right out?”
“That about covers it.” After all, Matt was the one who suggested I walked into the building. His assessment was about right.
Holy cats, I loved molding the English language like a piece of clay.
“Uh-huh.” He shook his head, but let it pass. “I have to get to the hospital to check in on Sal.”
He moved toward the door, then stopped, just like the legendary detective Columbo.
“Just one more thing. What about that voicemail message Newt left Shelly about having too much to drink and staying all night?”
“Faked. Sal met with Newt Friday afternoon. I figure he tried to strike some kind of bargain as plan A. When Newt wouldn’t play ball, he went to plan B. The phone call was made to throw the investigation off.”
Matt shook his head. “What a waste. And all because of money.”
“Indeed. The root of all evil.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
After Matt took his leave, I tracked Ursi down. She deserved never-ending snuggles and as many kitty treats as she wanted. I found the poor thing hiding in a dark corner under my bed. The insane events of the evening had really unnerved her. I couldn’t blame her for getting out of sight.
“Hey, girl.” I flicked a treat in her direction. “It’s all safe now. The bad guy’s gone and isn’t coming back.”
She sniffed at the morsel, then gobbled it up. It wasn’t until I gave her a third treat that she was finally willing to emerge from her spot.
I ran my fingertips down her spine. She stayed low against the floor, which indicated she was stressed. At least her tail wasn’t all puffed out like a feather duster anymore.
“That’s my hero.” I scooped her up and carried her to the couch, kissing her on her head the whole way.
When the two of us were nestled under a blanket, I gave her a close going over. On the surface, she didn’t appear to be any worse off from her tangle with Sal. Then, when I scratched along one side, she yelped. Evidently, the situation was different under her orange and black fur coat. I made a phone call.
Cammy picked up on the first ring. There was urgency in her voice when she answered. Probably due to the time. It was almost eleven.
My, how time flies when one is pursuing a murderer.
“I’ve got good news. The police have Newt’s murderer in custody. I wanted you to know.”
The line was silent for a few seconds. Then Cammy let out a long, loud sigh.
“Thank goodness. And thank you, Allie. I can’t tell you how much of a relief this is. I mean, I knew I didn’t do it, but until now, I felt like a black cloud was hanging over me.”
“Like there would always be some doubt in the community about your innocence until the real culprit was caught.” I gave Ursi another treat. “Believe me, I know the feeling. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
We chatted for a bit, then I asked if I could bring Ursi to see her the following day. “Her side’s a little tender, like her ribs are hurt.”
“For you two, I’d make a house call.” We laughed. “Come by anytime. I’ll fit you in.”
By the time we ended the call, Ursi was curled up in my lap. Normally, she liked to sit right beside me. The events of the evening must have really shaken her up. Understandable, since they’d shaken me up, too.
I spent the rest of the evening doing something that had become all too common in my life, calling Brent and my family members to let them know I was okay. Word got around at the speed of light in Rushing Creek. It wasn’t a stretch to assume someone at the hospital or on the police force had already let my involvement in Sal’s apprehension slip.
It was always better to give those close to me my version of events as quickly as possible. It was a way to present a version that minimized any danger I may have been in. It was the least I could do for my dear mother’s heart.
Then, unwilling to part with Ursi, the Ferocious Fighter, as Sloane dubbed her during our conversation, I carried her to the bedroom. Exhaustion took over and, in minutes, we were both asleep.
• • •
I reported to the police station at eleven o’clock sharp the next morning to give my statement.
Jeanette got up to greet me before the door had closed behind me.
“Heard you had quite the adventure yesterday.” She gestured for me to take a seat by her desk. “The chief’s on the phone with a forensic accountant so he asked me to interview you.”
Jeanette was one of my closest friends. I’d do anything for her. I needed to know something first, though.
“Sal. Is he going to make it?” I’d had a good night’s sleep. My head was clear. I could close my eyes and replay our encounter in the apartment like I was at a movie theater.
He tried to kill me. He injured Ursi. Still, I didn’t want him to die.
I wanted him to face a jury of his peers and answer for his crimes.
“It was touch and go for a while, but yeah, he’ll live to see his day in court.” She smiled. “Since you told the paramedics what he OD’d from, the ER had the antidote ready as soon as he came through the door. He’d be in the morgue right now if not for you.”
“Yeah, well, something tells me not to expect a Christmas card from him anytime soon.” I pulled on the collar of my sweater. “Have you been able to get a confession out of him yet?”
“He admitted to getting into an altercation in your apartment. He’s claiming it was in self-defense.” She slid a pair of photos across the desk toward me. In one, his hands were dotted with puncture wounds. In the other, his face and neck were covered with scratch marks.
I kept my expression neutral, but inside I swelled with pride. Good job, Ursi.
“Looks like a ferocious beast laid into him after he attacked its human companion.”
“He’s alleging your cat attacked him. Says he wants to press charges.”
My blood started to boil, but Jeanette’s smirk cooled me right back down. In the time it took to rein in my emotions, I came up with an idea.
“Let me give you my statement. Then you can decide whether charges against me or Ursi are warranted.”
Ninety minutes and two cups of coffee later, Jeanette pressed the Print function on her keyboard. A machine a few feet away came to life with a whir, then churned out my statement.
All seven pages of it.
Jeanette fetched the statement while I uncapped a red pen. I hadn’t edited my own words in a while. Despite the horrible circumstances, I was looking forward to the exercise.
“May I proceed with this?” I displayed the pen. “Or are you going to handcuff me and impound my cat?”
“I think you and Ursi are safe from the long arm of the law.” She gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. “I wouldn’t expect Henri Bouchard to roll out the welcome mat to you anytime soon, though.”
“May I ask why?”
“First thing this morning, the chief had me visit some of your suspects. Turns out, the night of the murder, Henri wasn’t at an art show in Indianapolis, like he’d claimed before. He was at a hotel. With Shelly.”
“No way.” I didn’t know whether to be happy or shocked that the rumors about the two had been true.
“Evidently, after the variance kerfuffle, Elise had convinced him they were better off in the long run by playing nice. She’s the one who suggested he wine and dine Shelly. Things seem to have gone further than Elise planned.”
“Man, talk about taking something to the extreme.” I inserted a mark where a space needed to go between two words. “Though, I’m in no position to judge.”
Jeanette laughed. “Things haven’t gone that far. Henri and Shelly claim to be good friends. Nothing more. Elise’s approach worked. When I asked Shelly about the studio situation, she said Newt was the one who had a problem with it. She has no objection to a new variance request.”
I shook my head. “I guess I was looking for monsters under the bed that simply weren’t there. I probably owe the Bouchards an apology.”
“Suit yourself, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Your name never came up. Besides, Shelly and Henri are the ones who weren’t honest with their alibis.”
“I appreciate it. I still feel stupid thinking they might have murdered Newt.”
“No worries. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty. Shelly even admitted her meeting with Vic at the library probably looked shady.”
With a sigh partly of relief and partly of frustration, I sat back in my chair. Sure, I’d never really considered Elise or Henri as suspects. I’d placed Shelly and Vic at the top of my list for a long time, though.
Almost too long.
“I guess I overthought things with Shelly and Vic, too. It made so much sense, though. The two of them had so much to gain.”
“Which made Sal’s plan so brilliant. On the surface, they had a much stronger motive than he did.”
“I was convinced that following the money was the right path to follow in this case.” I chuckled as I corrected another misspelling. “Glad I took the right one in the end.”
“So am I.” Jeanette looked around, then leaned in close to me. “Between the two of us, you pulled the department out of the fire.”
“How so?” I preferred to think of my investigations as helping an understaffed police force. The thought of me coming to the Rushing Creek PD’s rescue was never part of the equation.
“Ollie screwed up big-time by not searching Newt’s safe thoroughly enough. Who knows how long that ledger would have sat there if you hadn’t paid Shelly that visit? And once you found the ledger . . .” She shrugged.
“All the puzzle pieces began fitting together.”
“Exactly.”
I made a final correction to the statement. “I guess there’s something to be said for me being such a busybody, huh?”
“There is. Though, it would be great if you’d turn evidence in right away instead of keeping it to yourself. Some might view it as interfering with a police investigation.”
“What about you?”
“I view it as you being you.”
When the revisions were complete and the statement was signed, I swung by Matt’s office to drop it off.
“Here you go, Chief. Kudos to you and Officer Sandoval on a job well done. I’m glad I was able to be of assistance. And did not get in the way of, or directly involved with, any of last night’s events. Beyond protecting myself from an intruder, that is.”
“Uh-huh. You’re going to be the death of me one day, Allie. You know that, don’t you?” While his tone was stern, his wink told me all I needed to know.
“Of course I do. You’ve been telling me that since you started dating Rachel.” I reached over the desk to give him a playful punch on the shoulder. “You wouldn’t know what to do without me being a thorn in your side.”
“Maybe not.” He got up and punched me back. “But I wouldn’t mind finding out.”
We talked about the case for a bit. Matt assured me that with my statement in hand and the forensic accountant ready to get to work, it was only a matter of time before the police had all the evidence they needed to bring charges against Sal.
“We’ve already charged him with battery stemming from the encounter at the apartment. That’ll hold him until we add the embezzlement and murder charges.”
“Glad I could be of service. You know, by asking Officer Sandoval for help, not by being, anything like—”
“The person who solved the case?” He scratched his chin while he made a point of staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. Can’t wait to shake that mysterious person’s hand. Whoever it may be.”
I shook my head and chuckled. Outside of the agency, accolades weren’t my thing. If the community wanted to give all their attention to Gabe Sandoval, that was fine by me. Gabe was a good guy. And it was looking like he was going to be a terrific neighbor, too.
Two issues kept bugging me, like the proverbial itch that’s just out of one’s reach.
“I still don’t get the safe.” I shrugged. “Why use it, and on top of that, why dump it in the middle of the road? Just seems to have made hiding the body all that more difficult.”
“I think it was a revenge thing. Since Newt wouldn’t let him keep it, Sal turned it into Newt’s final resting place.”
It sounded insane, but not surprising. At this stage of my life, not much surprised me anymore. Whether that was a sad commentary on me or on society as a whole, I didn’t know. I’d leave it to my counselor, Nessie Bogan, to figure that one out.
A new thought popped into my head.
“He didn’t dump the safe on the road on purpose. That was his backup plan.”
Matt leaned forward. “Why do you say that?”
“He was going to dump it in one of the quarries.” Southern Indiana was limestone country. The area was dotted with sites where the limestone had been mined and water had begun to fill the openings in the ground left behind. “Something stopped him. On his way back to town, he must have decided getting rid of it then and there was better than holding on to it.”
Matt typed a few keys on his computer, then turned the monitor toward me. With a pen, he pointed out the locations of three quarries that were west of town and near State Road 46.
“One of those must have been his destination. He probably encountered a barrier he hadn’t counted on.” He gave me a long look. “The quarry owners have beefed up the fencing around their properties in the last year.”
“Thank goodness they have. Imagine if he’d succeeded.”
Matt’s silence spoke volumes. A heavy object like a safe would have sunk right to the bottom. In that scenario, the odds were high Newt’s body would never have been recovered.
I glanced at my watch. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get going. I’ll leave it to your team to figure out which quarry he was aiming for.”
“Fair enough.” He rose and extended his right hand. “Thanks, once again, for all your help. One of these days, this department will solve one of these crimes on its own.”
“I look forward to it.” We shook. Once again, the good folks of Rushing Creek could rest easy. Even if he was in the hospital, a murderer was in custody. Justice had prevailed.
• • •
After stopping by my apartment, I strolled into Cammy’s clinic. Ursi was safe and secure in her carrier. Brent had his arm looped through mine, holding me closer than usual, helping me feel safe and secure.
The reception area was packed. Humans waited alongside their canine, feline, and other animal companions.
Cammy was talking to a woman holding a rabbit that was wrapped up in a beach towel. When we caught her eye, she waved us over.
“Welcome, welcome to the heroes of Rushing Creek Animal Clinic.” She pulled me into a hug while she said hi to Ursi and Brent.
“You look awfully busy,” I said. “We can come back later.”
“Absolutely not. Ms. Ursula gets special treatment today. Come on.”
We followed Cammy to an exam room. Her staff members were practically running from place to place to keep up. They were all smiling, though. Good news often made the workplace more pleasant.
Either that or the rat among the veterinary henhouse had been identified and dealt with. The office assistant Randy was nowhere to be seen, though. Hmm.
“Are you always this busy during the middle of the day?” Brent’s eyes were wide. When he brought Sammy in, he left the doggo and fetched him at the end of the workday. It was typically less crowded then.
“No. Word seems to have gotten out about Mr. Green. A lot of the folks out there are the ones who had canceled their appointments. I’m happy to have them back. Pets shouldn’t suffer from their humans’ poor decision-making.”
Cammy’s clipped tone spoke volumes. She was a caring soul. Until this ghastly affair, I’d never heard her utter a cross word.
“Now, what seems to be the problem?” She lifted Ursi out of the carrier and placed her on a scale.
My cat, who normally was the living embodiment of tortoiseshell cat Tortitude and did not like to be told what to do, sat there like a model at a photo shoot. Cammy had the same magical relationship with Ursi that Sloane had. I told myself they were the fun aunts who didn’t have to be the disciplinarian that I had to be from time to time.
The doctor peeked at Ursi’s eyes, then ran her fingers down the feline’s sides. Ursi let out a yip when one of Cammy’s fingers touched the rib cage area.
“Uh-huh.” She felt along Ursi’s side some more. “I’ll do an X-ray to confirm, but it feels like a cracked rib. Has she fallen or crashed into something recently?”
Brent and I exchanged a glance. On the drive over, we’d debated how much about the previous night’s events we should divulge. In the end, we decided since Cammy had been accused of the murder, she deserved to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
There was no need to frighten the woman, though.
“Before he got arrested last night, Sal paid me a visit. He tried to get rough with me and Ursi went after him.” I kissed her on the top of her head. “She was my little protector. I think Sal must have really clamped down on her as he tried to get her off.”
She nodded, then looked away for a moment. When she turned back to me, her eyes were misty.
“There’s not much I can do for an injury like this. Like our ribs, we need to let Mother Nature handle the healing process. I’ll give you some medication to help her with the discomfort. Keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s eating and drinking normally. If you like to pick her up, I’d hold off on doing that for a few days.”
“Will do.” A weight was lifted off my shoulders. Ursi could have been seriously injured or worse defending me. Thank goodness her wounds were minor.
“Heroes come in all sizes, don’t they, Ursula?” Cammy scratched under Ursi’s chin. “Your mom was my hero, and you were her hero.”
“Girl power.” I bumped my knuckles against Ursi’s front paw. “Have you, uh . . .”
“Been visited by the police?” She smiled. “First thing this morning, Chief Roberson came to see me to tell me about one of my employee’s involvement with this. That person doesn’t work here anymore.”
“That’s gotta hurt, knowing one of your employees screwed you over,” Brent said. As the head of the Rushing Creek public library, he’d made employees mad at times with his decisions. A few of the stories he told me about their reactions were eyepopping.
“I honestly don’t think it was on purpose. This clinic’s worked with the state park for years when their regular vet isn’t available. It appears that Sal told Randy one of their horses wasn’t well and they needed the xylazine immediately. He had a state park check, so it looked aboveboard. Supposedly, Sal had promised he’d replace the vial.”
“Why didn’t he say something to you about it? Would have saved you a whole lot of trouble.” Brent was fidgeting with something in his coat pocket.
“He was scared. Dispensing medication like that without a prescription is against the law. That’s my license on the line, so I wouldn’t have let it pass. Then, when the news about Mr. Arbogast got out, he panicked and decided to clam up.”
“Classic case of self-preservation.” I’d read and edited enough thrillers to recognize that once a scheme started to unravel, the players started talking. Usually by claiming their involvement was all a misunderstanding.
“Speaking of which, if you know of anyone who’s an animal lover and looking for work, I have an immediate opening.” Cammy eased Ursi into the carrier. “It’s looking like the clinic will be super busy for the foreseeable future.”
That was our cue to head for the exit. Ursi was going to be okay. Cammy was, too.
After saying our goodbyes, we stepped outside. I closed my eyes and turned my face to the bright sun. We finally had a clear day. I reveled in the sensation as my cheeks warmed up.
“Hey, Allie?”
“Give me a minute. I want to enjoy this moment of Zen.”
“Okay, but I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
I opened my eyes. He was standing in front of me. Something was in his hand.
“If you want to go get an early dinner, the answer is yes.”
“I like that answer, but I was going to ask you something different.” He grinned and got down on one knee.
“Allie, you are the most amazing woman I have ever met. You’re smart and fearless and caring and life with you is a nonstop adventure. I’d like to keep that adventure going. For the rest of our lives.”
He opened his hand. There was an emerald ring in his palm.
“Alexandra Cobb, would you do me the honor of letting me come alongside you in the greatest adventure of a lifetime? Will you marry me?”
He took my left hand and slipped the ring onto the third finger. The jewel burst to life in dizzying shades of green as I looked at it.
It was the most amazing piece of jewelry I’d ever laid eyes upon. Then my vision got blurry. And my cheeks began to get wet.
“Allie? Are you okay?” The concern in Brent’s voice made me laugh.
“I’m fine, better than fine, actually.” I wiped the tears away with my free hand. “Just tearing up a little.”
“That’s a good thing, right? I was going to wait until Valentine’s Day to do this, but after last night, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Yes. It’s a good thing. And yes, not waiting until Valentine’s Day was a good idea. And yes, I will marry you.”
I put my arms around him and gave him a long, deep kiss. I’d learned a valuable lesson over the past ten days or so. Life was too short to wait for what might be. Brent wanted us to go on an adventure together. The kind one asked for when making a wish.
I had no doubt it was going to be the greatest one yet.
The Kickboxing Crusader and the Mild-Mannered Librarian. That was a dynamic duo that wouldn’t be stopped. The granting of the greatest kind of wish, indeed. And one that didn’t have to be carried by a ship in the distance.
Author’s Note
Readers often ask me where I get my ideas, especially ideas as strange as running into a big safe in the middle of a country road. Oddly enough, this one has its roots in fact. My brother-in-law, David Gilbert, lives in a rural community in North Central Indiana. One night, he was driving home down a dark country lane. From seemingly out of nowhere, a safe appeared in his headlights. Fortunately, for David, he saw it soon enough that he was able to avoid colliding with it. The safe that Allie’s brother Luke ran into is much larger than the safe David managed to avoid. Regardless of size, it begs the question: Who would leave a safe out in the middle of a country road, and even more importantly, why?
Books by J. C. Kenney
The Allie Cobb Mysteries
A Literal Mess
A Genuine Fix
A Mysterious Mix Up
A Deadly Discovery
The Dead of Winter
About the Author
Award-winning and bestselling author J. C. Kenney grew up in a household filled with books by legends like Agatha Christie and Lilian Jackson Braun, so it was no surprise when he found himself writing mystery stories. When he’s not writing, you can find him following IndyCar racing or listening to music. He lives in Indianapolis with his wife, two children, and a cat who is the inspiration for Ursula in the Allie Cobb Mysteries.