A Luring Murder (7 page)

Her spine stiffened, and she crossed herself.

“Who?”

She let out a disgusted grunt.

“Jackie Kennedy, Detective, a truly great woman. Don’t you know anything about history? She taught us, that despite our own tragedies, we must continue on.”

Okay. Jackie Kennedy. This woman had issues beyond a dead body.

“I have a resort full of people from out of town who didn’t know, or care, who Warren Pease was, if he was a good man or not. They’re here on their vacations. That last thing they need is some local drama messing up the peace and quiet, they paid dearly for with hard work.”

I flinched. She was probably right. Gavin certainly didn’t want his vacation interrupted by this drama. That, however, didn’t give Mrs. Peterman license to talk bad about my Mother.

Louise and Sheriff Anderson were doing their best Switzerland impersonation.

“Anyway, if you asked me, I’m surprised he didn’t end up dead long ago. Lord knows he’d been playing fast and loose with his life since high school. What do you want to know detective? I need to move on with my party.”

“Did you find the body, Mrs. Peterman?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the Sheriff. “Miller, do I have to go through all this?”

The sheriff leaned toward me. “It was Mr. Peterman.”

She turned back to her bubbling pot.

“Did Warren have much cause to be hanging around your fish house so early in the morning?”

She shrugged. “I guess he needed to clean some fish. That’s why most people go there.”

“I see.”

She was pissing me off. I couldn’t see any reason for her hostility.

Louise should be proud of the way I was keeping my cool. I glanced over at Louise for validation. She looked nonplused.

I do have a tendency to get under people’s skin. Even so, most people didn’t dismiss me outright regardless if I did rub them the wrong way.

“When was the last time you went to the fish house, Mrs. Peterman?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Last night or perhaps early this morning?”

That got her attention. She stopped stirring the red sauce and whirled around to face me.

“Just what exactly are you implying? Are you asking me if
I
killed him?”

“Did you?”

“No, I didn’t. Why didn’t you get to the point, and be direct right away, instead of beating around the lighthouse? I don’t have time to play guessing games with you.”

It was on now. I could be as direct as she wanted me to be.

“Fine.” I slammed my glass down on the counter. “What exactly is your problem with me, Mrs. Peterman? To my knowledge I haven’t even met you before today. I haven’t had time to create the amount of hostility I’m feeling from you right now. Tell me, what exactly have I done to upset you?”

If possible, her skin turned a brighter shade of red. Her breath came out in short puffs, and she looked like a pouting child who’d just had her bottom paddled.

“You slammed the door.”

Oh, I wasn’t hearing this.

“Excuse me?”

“When you came in you slammed the screen door.”

“You’re a little off, aren’t you?”

Louise put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Catherine, just relax. Take a breath.”

“Women like you two make me angry anyway.” She turned back to the stove and turned off the burner. “You should be home taking care of your family. You probably don’t even have children.”

Louise went ramrod straight next to me.

Mrs. Peterman sure knew how to slap so it stung. My mind raced to the image of Gavin in his dorky sandals. I was supposed to be on vacation, spending time with him, not chasing some killer around town. But it was hard to set aside my instincts and everything inside me said to help.

“I see. Well it’s a good thing I don’t have children. According to you, they’d slam doors, have no manners, and not know anything about history,” I said. “If you do happen to remember anything that might be helpful in catching a murderer who is loose in your town, please let the Sheriff know. That is if you approve of what he does.”

She slammed her spoon down on the stovetop but said nothing.

“Do you know where we can find your husband, Mrs. Peterman?” Louise’s tone was stiff with tension.

Mrs. Peterman held her silence.

“Claire do you know where he is?” The sheriff asked.

“He’s out getting fire wood for tonight’s bon fire.”

Louise and I turned and strode out the door. I made damned sure not to slam the door on my way out.

The sheriff came out a few seconds later. The screen door slammed shut behind him.

“Don’t let Claire get to you too much,” he said. “She’s old-fashioned and ornery. She doesn’t even believe women should vote.”

She was part right, women like her shouldn’t vote.

“I told her that she needs to be more helpful to you two next time you ask her questions.”

“Next time?” Louise thundered. “No one should speak to that woman again unless they’re armed. She’s all yours.”

A little voice inside me cheered, ‘Go Louise!’ Outwardly, I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Settle down, Louise. Deep breaths.”

This sudden role reversal smacked of hypocrisy, but I tried to do the right thing despite what I felt.

Louise charged ahead without heed to my lame duck warning.

“That woman,” she stabbed her finger toward the house. “Should not be allowed to speak to civilized people.”

He chuckled. “She’s always had an issue about working women. I don’t know what put that particular bee in her britches, but she’s been that way as long as I can remember.”

The sheriff turned and strode down a dirt path that lead to the lake. “The wood pile is down this way Detectives.”

Louise huffed out a few frustrated breaths then creaked off after him on her crutches.

More walking. Had I known I was going to be marching this much on my vacation, I would have brought hiking boots instead of leather heals.

I caught up with them halfway down the hill.

“Mrs. Peterman sounds like she also had a bee in her britches about the victim. Do you know what that was about?”

He let out a deep breath. "Every small town has its share of stories and tragedies.”

And its share of crazies, but I wasn’t judging.

“Claire blames Warren for her son’s problems. Her son and Warren were friends in high school. Claire believes Warren is the one who got her boy Dave into drugs.”

“Did he overdose?” Louise asked.

“In a manner of speaking. He didn’t die, but he sniffed enough turpentine on a rag to kill most of his brain cells.”

Pain pushed at my heart for the old woman. I didn’t understand her hostility toward me, but at least I could understand why she hated our victim.

“That’s terrible,” I said.

He nodded. “Problem is Warren never did sniffing. I caught him growing marijuana, but that was the hardest drug he used. Claire just needed someplace to lay the blame, and Warren’s shoulders looked big enough to her.”

That explained a little about a lot.

“Does the Peterman’s son live here at the resort?” Louise asked.

“No.” He pushed up the bill of his cap and wiped drops of sweat from his forehead. “They had him committed to the state hospital. Claire couldn’t take care of him after awhile. Wes helps, but it’s Claire who runs the resort. Taking care of all these people and a brain-damaged son was just too much for her. It was either sell the resort, which had been in her family for generations, or put Dave in a home.”

So much for the hostility towards working women. Claire was angry with herself.

A short way down the shoreline, we spotted Mr. Peterman under a small three-sided woodshed tossing logs into the bed of his old green pickup truck. He spotted us and waved.

“Hello, Miller.”

“Wes. How are you holding up?” He leaned against the pickup.

Wes Peterman’s weathered features drooped. “I’ve been better. No one should have to see a sight like that. I can tell you, I’ll be seeing him lying there for quite some time, every time I lie down and close my eyes to sleep.”

He whacked the nail square on the head. I’d seen some horrible crimes before, but this one would be with me for a while too. Anyone who says you get used to seeing the horror people inflict on one another was lying. You just find a way to deal with the nightmares. Some turned to religion, some drugs and alcohol. Others, like me, turned inside themselves for a way to cope.

“Claire insists on continuing with this damned fish fry. It’s tradition after all.” He put his hand over his stomach. “I’m not sure I can eat anything, let alone her red sauce.”

I wrinkled my nose at the thought. The smell of fish alone would make me gag after being in the fish house this morning.

“Do you mind if we ask you some question, Mr. Peterman?” Louise said.

“Call me Wes, Miss.” He held out his hand.

Louise shook his hand. “I’m Louise.”

He smiled at me. “Then you’re Catherine O’Brien?”

“Yes, I am.”

He took my hand in a gracious two-handed handshake. “I met your husband earlier. He assured me that if anyone could catch Warren’s killer it would be you.”

A strange sense of pride rushed through me. I would have to remember to thank Gavin for adding pressure.

“We’ll do our best to help the sheriff.” I wanted to off load some pressure onto Louise.

“Your husband’s a really nice man. I liked him right off. He’s very proud of you.”

Either a warm breeze blew into my face or I blushed. I preferred to believe it was the wind. “Thank you. I’m proud of him too. Are you up for a few questions?”

“I suppose.” He tugged at the cuff of his work gloves. “Do you mind if I keep loading while we talk? I’m afraid Claire will pitch a fit if I don’t stay on schedule.”

“Go right ahead,” Louise said.

The sheriff hitched up his belt. “I’ll give you a hand, Wes.”

The two men stacked the logs into the bed of the truck, in a chain gang fashion.

“How did you happen to find the body?” I retrieved my notebook from my purse.

“What do you mean?” He hefted a log on top of the pile with an,
oomph
.

“What brought you down to the fish house so early in the morning?”

“Oh, I was doing my morning chores. I was going to grab the gut pale and bury the guts in the garden.”

“That’s what you’ve been feeding those prize winning tomatoes of yours.” The Sheriff handed him another log.

Wes laughed a heartwarming belly laugh. “And don’t be telling everyone. I don’t need any more competition at the county fair this year.”

I made a mental note not to eat any tomatoes at the fish fry. Food should always remain a mystery in my world. The more I knew about the growing, or processing of food, the less I ate.

“Sue Jenkins would pay a pretty penny for that information.”

“Sorry to interrupt Gentlemen,” Louise said. “We’re getting off the subject.”

“Sorry,” Wes said. “The folly of close friendships. You tend to ramble regardless of who’s around.”

“You might ramble, but I don’t,” the Sheriff said.

“Did you see a weapon near the area?” Louise jumped in before they could wander off track again.

“Honestly, I didn’t look. When the shock stopped sending prickers to my heart, I ran to the house to call the Sheriff.” He thumped his chest. “The old heart isn’t so good anymore so I took my meds first.”

“Did you see anyone that morning walking around the resort?” I asked.

“I saw Bruce McMahan and your husband. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but Bruce I recognized right off the bat. He’s been coming here with his family for years.”

The sheriff stopped loading the truck as if something had just bit him in the ass.

“I think we can rule Gavin out since he didn’t know the victim or have a motive to murder him,” Louise said. “Did Bruce know Mr. Pease?”

“Yes,” the Sheriff said. “They were acquainted.” He clenched his jaw and loaded logs again.

“Mr. Peterman, do you know anyone who would have had a reason to murder the victim?” I asked.

“Well detective you can’t live in a small town for any amount of time without rubbing someone the wrong way.”

He had a point. I hadn’t even been in town twenty-four hours, and I’d annoyed my husband, a deputy, a waitress, and a Jackie O. wannabe. If I stayed in this town much longer, I might have a few people willing to off me too. Except maybe Gavin. He’d been with me long enough. If he’d had murderous thoughts, I had given him plenty of reasons to go through with them over the years.

“Anyone who recently threatened him?” Louise swatted at a swarm of gnats that buzzed around her.

“Oh, I didn’t see him that much. We weren’t close.” He lowered his eyes. “My wife wasn’t very fond of him. For personal reasons.”