A Luring Murder (3 page)

On second thought, maybe not.

Louise would probably make me go with her to try on clothes, and dressing rooms with their three-way mirrors and florescent lights were something I could live without. God bless the internet for ensuring I would never need to see my ass in a three-way mirror again.

Anyway, Louise would no doubt pick some designer label, and I’d have to walk around someone else’s name on my butt. She firmly believed I could use more style in my life. Part of me agreed, but if I were being honest, in the cold gray light of morning, I would be happier in brick-brown, blood-stained jeans.

I lowered myself to the floor and tried my best to avoid the most obvious gobs of flesh – human and otherwise. Then I scooted myself around to face the bottom of the table like a mechanic rolling under a car.

I located the wad of sticky stuff under the table scraped some off into the baggy Louise had given me.

“Does the gum smell?” Louise peeked her head under.

I pushed the bag up toward her.

“Why don’t you stick your nose in the baggie and find out? Or was your sense of smell damaged when you were shot too?”

“Oh, shut up. You’re just mad because you got the icky job.”

“Damn straight.”

A quick sweep under the table turned up a piece of fabric caught on the inside lip. I tweezed it out with my fingers. One last look at the rest of the underside for any other evidence showed nothing. I emerged from the filth I hoped never to experience again.

“Louise, are you wearing long sleeves?”

“Short,” she said. “Why?”

Louise’s normally wrinkle free forehead creased, and she cocked her head to get a better look. “What’s that?”

“Looks like our killer left behind a piece of his shirt or jacket when he ditched the knife,” I said. “Just a little something for us to capture him by.”

Louise bagged the scrap, then held out a hand to help me off the ground. A good will gesture and nothing more. With her injury, I would have sent her skidding into the muck face first if I had pulled on her arm.

“So nice of him to think of us on his busy schedule.” She held up the bag and squinted at it. “Nice fabric. A little dirty but I’d say its linen.”

I wouldn’t know linen from cotton, but I trusted Louise’s judgment in such matters.

“The edge of the table is jagged under there. I’d say whoever it was now has a nice sized scratch somewhere on their forearm.”

“Especially if he raked his arm hard enough to leave a piece of fabric this large,” Louise said. “We’d better get it to Digs for analysis. If we’re lucky, the killer left some skin or blood behind too.”

The rancid smell in the fish house overpowered the ability of my brain to block the odor any more.

“I’m sorry Louise, I’m going to be sick.”

I hurried out into the fresh air before my stomach decided to rebel. Louise followed and closed the door behind her. She pushed my head down toward my knees.

“Deep breaths,” she said. “The nausea will pass.”

I willed the trembling in my legs to stop. A metallic tasting saliva flooded my mouth.

Every cop still had moments that either made them puke, or brought them close to puking. You can try to control the feeling all you want, but the first time you see a murdered child or a dismembered body, your brain ceases to override your stomach.

A flush of embarrassment heated my face as Louise patted me on the back and repeated her deep breath mantra. I’d never seen Louise break a sweat let alone puke on her shoes, and here I was doing both simultaneously.

“You must have a cast iron stomach,” I said.

“I breath through my mouth when we walk in on a decomp.”

She could have shared that little tip with me years ago.

The nausea finally passed, and I realized how bad I smelled. Combined with the smell of death and fish, I had the pungent odor of Channel Number Dog Piss swirling about me. I straightened and took a deep breath of clean air.

“I’d better get cleaned up,” I said and indicated my soaked pant leg.

“I’ll get the evidence to Digs.” She gave my upper arm a light squeeze.

I trudged through the sand up the shore to the cabin that Gavin’s friend Bill owned. Part of me resented Bill for owning his own cabin. If Gavin had to find a place for us to stay on short notice, I might have been spared this vacation. Or at least been in a nice clean hotel. This trip wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. At least I wasn’t fishing, yet.

Half way back to the cabin, I ran into Gavin.

“Hi Honey.” He waved. “I almost forgot a life vest. Are you going back to the cabin?”

He jogged up alongside me. Then leaned in to give me a kiss. Before his lips could make contact with my cheek he recoiled, and put his hand over his nose.

“I need a shower,” I said.

“Yeah, you do,” He said through his fingers. “So, have you finished filling in Digs and Louise on the case?”

“Sort of.” I chewed at my bottom lip. “Gavin, I think I might help out for a little bit. Just to make sure that everything’s on the right track.”

The firestorm came fast.

“You’re supposed to be on leave, Catherine.” He strained to keep his voice below a yell.

“Come on, Gav. I can’t leave this investigation to that Barney Fife of a sheriff this town has elected. Didn’t Warren Pease deserve better than that?”

“We don’t know that, Catherine. He could have been a total bastard who deserved what he got.”

Gavin would have never said such a nasty thing if he’d seen Warren laying prone on the fish house table with his insides out.

“You are going to hell, Gavin James O’Brien.”

I stomped up the front steps of the cabin with Gav close on my heels. I jogged into the bedroom shut the accordion door hard. The rup, rup sound it made wasn’t as satisfying as a door slam, but I think Gavin got my point.

He zipped the door open with an equally vicious rup, rup and wagged his finger at me.

“Don’t you threaten me with hell, Catherine Margaret O’Brien. If there was a tour guide in hell, you’d be on the short list of new hires.”

I sucked in a deep breath like someone had just kicked me in the stomach.

“I’m going to chalk that nasty comment up to the heat of the argument and not you wishing me into hell.”

“You just can’t get away from the job, can you?” He said. “Don’t use some lame excuse that Sheriff Anderson can’t handle this alone. You know Louise and Digs can help him out as well as you can.”

“Not fair, Gav.” I shucked off my pants and tossed them in the little trash bin next to our bed. “I didn’t orchestrate a murder so I could keep working. I really was looking forward to this vacation.”

For a moment, his eyes lost all their anger and his gaze slipped to my ass. My husband is a butt man, and for some reason, he couldn’t get enough of looking at mine.

Just as I was about to believe my ass had gotten itself out of its own sling, Gavin recovered his anger.

“You were not looking forward to coming here. If you hadn’t been placed on administrative leave, I don’t believe for a second that you would have taken two weeks off to go on vacation with me.”

I wrapped a beach towel I’d found in the closet around my waist. He didn’t deserve to gaze upon my ass. How dare he know me so well?

I pushed past Gavin to get to the moldy shower of Bill’s cabin and avoid more of this conversation. Single men shouldn’t live without a cleaning service.

Then again, Gavin did all the cleaning around our house. Without him, I’d probably live in a place as dirty, or worse, than this. I had to remember to give him some good loving soon. Gavin made sure I didn’t starve to death, live in squalor, or stink every day when I went to work. Can’t imagine what I did to snag him.

He followed me into the bathroom. “Stop trying to get away from me.”

I turned on the water and stripped off the rest of my clothes.

“Gav, I’m not pulling in OT for this guy. I want to see where the evidence we’ve already found leads, and then I’ll be back.”

Steam rolled from the glass-enclosed shower and enveloped the tiny bathroom in added humidity. Showering with walls would be a luxury. Our bathroom at home was still under construction from the last time a bug bit Gavin with the bright idea to remodel our old Victorian in Saint Paul.

The majority of our home had half-finished projects which took a way-back seat to Gavin’s paying jobs. I could live with the random electrical outages and having to dance around the sawhorses which littered every floor, but showering in a cubical that had sheets of clear plastic stapled to all four sides instead of walls wore thin my patience.

Gavin closed the lid of the toilet, sat, and crossed his legs. “I don’t believe for a second you can see where the evidence leads and then walk away. Every murder is personal to you.”

“Please, let’s not have the,
you-take-your-job-too-personally
argument again.”

I stepped into the shower and closed the glass door behind me with more force than necessary.

“Besides, I’ll be back in plenty of time for the fishy feeding frenzy, or whatever the hell they call their party.”

Gavin’s friend Bill had described the party as not to miss, best food ever, and the best time we’d ever have. He said it like an addict describing his favorite fix, with the same glassy-eyed, maniacal look on his face.

I soaped up with my back to him. He didn’t deserve a free show for as pissy as he was being.

“It’s a fish fry feeding frenzy,” he said, as if giving a party a ridiculous name wasn’t odd.

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

I rinsed quickly and turned off the water. I only needed to clean off the puppy calling card and get most of the death and fish smells off me. Without lemon, washing was basically hopeless anyway. A full service shower could wait until I had more time. Gavin handed me the beach towel from the floor. I wrapped myself in the oversize terrycloth and scurried to the bedroom.

“I’ll be back in plenty of time for the picnic, assuming it’s still on.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t heard that they’re calling the party off.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised if Gavin had stood and flicked me between the eyes. You’d think after finding a dead body on the premises the resort owners might not want to have a huge party the same day. The whole notion seemed a little disrespectful.

“Good.” I dried myself, and then put on my clothes. “Then you can help me scope out suspects. Won’t that be fun?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nick and Nora Charles we’re not, Catherine. We can barely cook dinner together without driving each other crazy.”

I raided my duffel bag, found a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

“Oh, come on. We’ll have fun.” I slung my bra around my chest and hooked it in the back, then pulled on my underwear. I might have to do laundry by the end of the week. I hadn’t planned on changing my clothes twice a day.

“You always say you want to do more stuff together. This way we get the best of both worlds. Your stuff and my stuff.”

“My stuff?” He folded his arms and leaned against the door jam. “What part of that is my stuff?”

“Your fish feeding frenzy thing.” I wiggled my fingers at him.

I finished dressing then raked my unruly curls back into a ponytail. The dampness in the air made the pony frizz out, but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. God cursed me with misbehaving curls.

“It’s a fish fry feeding frenzy.” This time he repeated the party name as if he were speaking to a child.

“That’s the thing.” I kissed him on the cheek and headed for the door. “We’ll do the fish thing, and we’ll investigate at the same time.

I heard a sarcastic, “I can’t wait,” as the cabin door closed behind me.

Back to Top

CHAPTER THREE

Louise, Digs, and the Sheriff all waited for me near the main house of the resort. Sheriff Anderson waved like he was greeting an old friend he hadn’t seen in years.

“Did you get the dog pee cleaned off?” He asked.

I glared a Digs who stared off into the sky like the treetops were the most fascinating sight in the world with a devious smirk on his face.

“News travels fast around this place.”

Sheriff Anderson gave a good-natured chuckle and clapped me on the shoulder. “Welcome to the small town grapevine, Detective. A good story travels faster than a bad cold.”

“You should ticket the resort owners for not having their dog on a leash.”

“I would, but they don’t have a dog. Must be a stray.” He hitched up his pants then adjusted the bill of his hat. “Well, should we get going?”

“Where too?” I asked.

Louise hobbled by me toward Sheriff Anderson’s cruiser. “We need to get Digs set up behind the sheriff’s office so we can start analyzing what we’ve found. Then we start pounding the pavement.”

Just another day at the office.

The sheriff meandered his cruiser through the streets of the sleepy town. Cute saltbox houses with front porches and well-tended gardens filled every block. Each person we passed in the street waved and smiled.

I looked back to make sure we hadn’t lost Digs at our breakneck speed of thirty miles per hour. Digs was barely visible over the dash of the cube van. He bounced around behind the wheel singing and air drumming the steering wheel.

“Tell me about the victim,” Louise said. “Has he lived here long?”

“All his life. Warren went to school with my son. They played football together.” His voice broke with emotion. “They went to the championships that year.”

The Sheriff cleared his throat and then adjusted the vents in front of him. He regained his composure after a few seconds.

“It’s a real shame. Warren didn’t deserve to die that way.”

“No one does,” I said.

He nodded. “I supposed I’ll have to call his parents in Arizona. I’m not really looking forward to that phone call to tell you the truth.”

No, I wouldn’t want to make that call either. Breaking the news of the son’s death was the worst part of the job. Doing it over the phone would be even more difficult. They couldn’t see the concern on your face. You couldn’t place a comforting hand on their shoulder or touch their hand.

“Sheriff?” Louise’s gentle tone drew his attention away from getting caught up in the memories that threatened to send him into a crying jag.

“Do you know why Warren was at the resort last night?”

“Truth to tell, that sort of makes me wonder. He doesn’t really have any business there.”

“Unless someone called him to the resort,” I said.

Sheriff Anderson locked eyes with me in the rearview mirror.

“It’s possible, but I couldn’t tell you who.”

We pulled up outside a small polished granite building that looked like it had just stepped out of a scene from the Wild West. There were bars on the windows and door, which added to the old west effect. The small wooden rail that separated the sidewalk from the street looked suspiciously like a hitching post. Only tumble weeds rolling across the street could have made the look complete. I gazed up at the solid tan piece of granite over the door in which the word
jail
had been chiseled.

“This is it,” he said and jammed the cruiser into park.

“You know, I never would have guessed,” I said.

The Sheriff chuckled. At least he had a sense of humor. There’s nothing worse than a dower police chief.

Louise and the Sheriff got out of the front seat. Sheriff Anderson directed Digs to Park alongside the building, while Louise popped the back door to let me out.

I helped Louise to the door, and then tried the handle.

“It’s locked,” I said.

“Well of course it is.” He took keys from his coat pocket and opened the door. “There are weapons inside. It would be dammed irresponsible not to lock the door.”

“Maybe this isn’t Mayberry after all,” Louise whispered.

“I didn’t mean to be ignorant Sheriff, it’s just that there’s always someone in our office. In case there’s an emergency.”

Which frankly was about every fifteen minutes in our office.

“We don’t have the staff to keep the office open.” He removed his baseball cap and tossed it on the desk next to his keys. The hat left a dark ring of ink around his head where the sweatband had been. “The whole department consists of my deputy and myself.”

“That must make it difficult when you’re both out of the office.” Louise leaned on the edge of the deputy’s desk and massaged her leg. “What happens if there’s an emergency and someone needs to get in touch with you?”

He shrugged. “It really hasn’t been an issue. I’m listed in the phonebook, and my wife can always reach me on the radio or my cell phone. It’s no problem.”

I wonder if Mrs. Sheriff felt it wasn’t a problem. I know how Gavin would feel if I were called at home every time there were an emergency. His feelings about my job are quite clear without the added stress of being told there was a gang shooting that I needed to investigate.

“It all seems to work out.” He dropped into his seat.

The door rattled open and in strode every woman’s dream. A tall man, at least six foot, dark hair (cropped a little too close to the scalp for my tastes) royal blue eyes, and a body by God, melted into a pair of faded blue Levis jeans. He wore a Sheriff’s Department windbreaker. When he pulled the jacket up over his head, I caught a glimpse of his six-pack abs when his t-shirt untucked.

“Hey, Sheriff.” He hung the jacket on a peg near the door. “There’s a big truck parked outside and some skinny guy -” He turned and locked eyes with Louise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we had guests.”

She smiled appreciatively back at him. There was a pull between the two of them, like two super magnets aimed straight at one another.

He folded his rippling arms over his chest and leaned his upper body back so his hips where the most forward thing on his body. Not a bad look on him at all.

“Thomas.” Sheriff Anderson came around the desk and stood next to the Deputy. “These ladies are from the Saint Paul Police department. This is Deputy Thomas Watkins.”

I stood and stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Deputy. I’m Detective O’Brien.”

The Deputy gripped my hand, a little too firm, and gave me one shake.

“This is Detective Louise Montgomery. She’s here on vacation.”

“Detective.” Watkins gave a wide mouthed, toothy smile. “Well, isn’t that impressive.”

Watkins wasn’t impressed when I told him I was a detective.

“What happened to your leg?” He asked.

Had he looked down long enough to see her leg? Since we’d come in, the Deputy had been staring at Louise’s face.

“I was shot.”

He contorted his face into the poor baby expression.

“The skinny guy outside is here with us,” Louise said.

“We’re helping investigate your homicide,” I said.

“A homicide?” He turned to the sheriff. “Christ, who was killed?”

Sheriff Anderson put his arm on Watkins’s shoulder. “Warren Pease. Killed in a horrible way.”

Made me wonder what method of being killed was a good way in his opinion.

Deputy Watkins took several deep breaths, staggered, and dropped into a chair in front of Louise. He rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands.

I wasn’t sure if it was his deodorant, or his aftershave, but Deputy Thomas Watkins smelled like a man should, musky and woody. Gavin had that smell after a hard day of work. I bet he’d have the same smell after a day in a boat too. Maybe this vacation wouldn’t be a total loss.

“I just saw Warren last night,” Watkins said to the floor. “I can’t believe he’s been murdered.”

My ears perked up. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Louise edge forward. Finally, a good solid start. Someone who’d seen the victim before he died.

“What time did you see him last night?” Louise asked.

“About ten-thirty or so.” He sat up straight. “He was pulling his boat out of the water down at the public access.”

Since Louise’s hands were engaged with her crutches, and Sheriff Anderson seemed oblivious to the significance of what was being said. I waded into my messy, diaper bag of a purse to retrieve my notebook. “Did he say where he might be going when he finished with his boat?”

“Yeah, he said he was meeting somebody over at the Long Neck Lounge for a beer.”

I scribbled notes in my own version of shorthand. “And where is the Long Neck Lounge?”

“On Main Street.”

Of course it is
. Every small town had a main street, and that’s where the local, sawdust-on-the-floor, hangout bar was located. This town was more than a stereotype of a small town; it was a cliché. I wrote “Lng. Nk. Mn. St.” in my notes and closed the notebook.

Watkins jumped to his feet. “I’m sorry, Detective. Would you like to sit?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “My leg tends to get stiff if I sit too long.”

“I know what you mean.” He kicked the chair and rolled it under the desk.

“Oh?” I said. “You’ve been shot?”

“No, I meant I can imagine.”

“Right,” I said. At least he can pretend to have something in common with Louise.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, but why the hell did you call in the Saint Paul Policy, Sheriff? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“He didn’t call us,” I said. “I’m on vacation.”

His brows furrowed, and his forehead wrinkled in deep confusion.

“Then you’re here on vacation too?”

Louise shook her head. “Sort of, I’m here with the cavalry.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The skinny guy outside.” I pointed to the window, which was blocked by the cube van. “He’s the only one here in an official capacity.”

Watkins’s mouth rounded into a mute O form the he said, “And that official capacity would be?”

“Digs is a Forensic Pathologist.” Louise leaned closer to the deputy. “He’s the best there is anywhere.”

His smile grew broad. “That’s high praise, I’m sure.”

Ugh, the animal lust between these two was disgusting. I expected at any minute they might start circling and sniffing each other.

“Are there any suspects yet?” Watkins propped a butt cheek on the edge of the desk next to Louise and folded his arms over his chest. He looked like he was here to model jeans, not issue speeding tickets.

“Not yet,” she said. “But maybe you can help us find one.”

“Sure, if I can. Where was he killed? At his house? In his truck?”

“At the Peterman’s resort in their fish house,” the Sheriff said.

“How’d it happen?”

“Knife,” I said. “Gutted.”

His face twisted into a grimace as he wrapped his mind around the mental image. “Jesus, how could anyone do that to a human being?”

Sheriff Anderson gave his deputy a hard stare. “I never thought you and Warren got along that well, Thomas.”

Watkins Stood. “We didn’t, but I never wished anything this horrible on him.”

“What was the problem between you two?” I asked.

“Oh, you know. Just kid stuff. Old high school wound that crusted over with time.”

The sheriff’s look of scrutiny didn’t flinch.

“We weren’t good friends, but we were what I considered good acquaintances.” Watkins smiled. “I kinda liked the guy.”

Sheriff Anderson nodded as if the answer satisfied him. For my part, I wasn’t prepared to forget, but I would let it go for now.

“We have to focus on finding out who killed him,” I said. “Do you have any idea who he was meeting for a beer?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Can either of you think of anyone who would want Warren Pease dead?” Louise said.

Deputy Watkins looked down at his feet then at the Sheriff. The Sheriff nodded to his unasked question. Watkins didn’t seem like the type of guy who needed permission to speak his mind.

“What’s going on here gentlemen?” I rocked back on my heals then up on my toes with my arms crossed over my chest. A move I’d been working on, ever since I’d seen my chief do it when he interrogated me about something he thought I was less than honest about. He’d been right I had been lying to him, but it was the heel toe move that stuck with me from that lecture. It was so cool. “If you keep things from us, it’s going to be a lot harder to help with this investigation.”

Watkins checked the Sheriff again. The Sheriff’s lips flattened, and he nodded again. Watkins stayed mute.

“Hey.” I shrugged. “I’m on vacation, I’ll gladly go fishing with my husband.”

I prayed Watkins would give in and tell his little secret, because fishing wasn’t a prospect I found all that appealing.