Moonshine Murder [Hawkman Bk 14]
Read Moonshine Murder [Hawkman Bk 14] Online
Authors: Betty Sullivan La Pierre
SynergEbooks
www.synergebooks.com
Copyright ©2011 by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
First published in SynergEbooks, 2011
This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person, companies, or events is purely coincidental.
TO MY DEAR MOTHER
Young Randy Hutchinson rode his bike at breakneck speed down the hill, then onto the road leading into the residential area. He slowed at Tom Casey's place, and eyed the woman in the yard bending over the flower beds that stretched the length of the house. Taking a deep breath, he turned into the driveway.
Jennifer heard the crunch of rocks and glanced up. She studied the young lad for a few moments as he straddled the two-wheeler. He needed a hair cut and wore very tattered clothes, even though he appeared clean. “Well, hello. I don't think I know you. What's your name?"
"Randy Hutchinson."
She stood up and dusted off her hands. “I don't recognize the name Hutchinson. Do you live around here?"
He pointed toward the way he'd come. “We have a cabin way up there on a hill. Don't get down here much."
"I see. Did you just move in?"
Randy shrugged his shoulders. “Sort of. I guess you'd say that, since we're still bringing up stuff for the place."
"Welcome to the neighborhood.” She held out her hand and smiled. “I'm Jennifer Casey."
"Thanks,” he said, grinning shyly as he jumped off the bike, dropped it to the ground, and took hold of her fingers. “Is Mr. Hawkman your husband?"
Jennifer laughed. “How'd you know him as Mr. Hawkman?"
The boy wrinkled his forehead in question. “Isn't that his name?"
"It's his nickname. His real name is Mr. Tom Casey."
"Didn't he used to be a spy? And doesn't he have a pet falcon?"
"My goodness, you certainly know a lot about him for being new to the area."
Randy shuffled his worn sneakers across the pebbles on the driveway. “Kids talk a lot, and some of the guys told me they think he's some sort of god."
Jennifer stifled a giggle. “He's a nice guy, but I don't think I'd classify him as a god."
"Is it true he's a private investigator?"
"Yes."
"I'd sure like to meet him."
"Tell you what, hang around here for a few minutes and I'll see if I can find him."
His eyes grew wide. “Really?"
Jennifer disappeared into the house, went back to Hawkman's office, and poked her head into the room. “You've got a visitor."
Hawkman glanced up from the ledger he'd been working on. “Who?"
"A ragamuffin boy about ten years of age. Says his name is Randy Hutchinson."
"Is he from around here? I haven't heard of anyone named Hutchinson in this area."
"Guess they're a new family, living way up on a hill in a cabin."
Hawkman frowned. “Usually we hear about the new ones, before they're even settled."
"I'm very curious too. The boy knows a lot about you, for a newcomer."
"Oh?"
"He called you ‘Mr. Hawkman’ and asked if you were once a spy, but now a private investigator. He told me he learned it from the kids. Oh, he also said you're some sort of god."
"What!"
"I'm just telling you what he told me."
"Oh, my, I better go out and set this kid straight."
He dropped his pencil into the crease of the book and stood. “Lead me to him.” Before they got to the front door, Hawkman took hold of Jennifer's shoulder. “Let me peek through the kitchen window and check him out."
He scrutinized the boy through the glass. The youngster had long dishwater blond hair, which definitely needed cutting, and appeared tall and skinny for his age. His jeans and tee-shirt were very ragged. Hawkman turned to Jennifer. “Looks poor, but clean."
"My thoughts exactly."
He opened the door and stepped outside.
The boy's blue eyes lit up. “You're exactly what I imagined. My friends told me you were tall, had an eye-patch and looked like a cowboy."
Hawkman smiled. “Glad I didn't disappoint you."
"Do you really have a falcon you carry on your arm?"
"Yes, would you like to see her?"
"Oh man, yeah."
Hawkman took him around to the back of the house and showed him Pretty Girl, who put on a big show of squawking and flapping her wings inside the large aviary. “She wants to go hunting. I try to take her out once or twice a week."
Suddenly, Randy's mouth turned down at the corners. “I've got to go. Thanks for showing her to me."
Hawkman glanced at the boy. “Did I say something wrong?"
"Oh no, sir. I just gotta go. Can I come back sometime?"
"Sure."
They walked back around the house, and Randy jumped on his bike and took off up the road. Hawkman placed his boot on the brick wall of the flower bed next to Jennifer. “That boy had more on his mind than just meeting me."
She stopped digging in the dirt, and glanced up. “What makes you think so?"
"Something about his being so eager, then suddenly turning it off like a water spigot and saying he had to go. He seemed troubled, but didn't have the nerve to say any more."
She dusted off her hands, and sat down on the wall. “What in the world would bother him to such a point? What did you talk about?"
"I told him I took Pretty Girl out to hunt once or twice a week. Why would such a comment cause the boy to melt down?"
"You sure you didn't say something negative?"
"I'm positive.” He pointed a finger. “I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of Randy. In fact, I'm going to ask around, and see if anyone knows about this family."
"I'll do the same, as I got the impression, they've been here for a few months, and I thought it strange we hadn't heard anything about them."
"Where'd he say they lived?"
She pointed west. “He said in a cabin, way up in the hills."
Hawkman frowned. “Most of that property is privately owned. Maybe they're renting a place. Off the top of my head, I don't recall any sort of a cabin, just homes."
Jennifer shrugged. “You know boys; he might have thought it sounded more manly or rustic to say cabin."
Hawkman dropped his foot from the brick and moved toward the front door. “From the looks of his clothes, I don't think there's much money in the family."
"You can't judge by what he's wearing; those might be the ones he uses for outdoors."
"True. Maybe I'm reading something into the boy which isn't there."
She smiled. “Very likely."
He glanced at his wife, then went inside.
Jennifer returned to digging the soil in the flower bed, her mind churning with thoughts of the young lad. She hated to admit to her husband, that she, too, had reservations about the youngster when he rode onto the driveway. Yet, she couldn't put her finger on it. He seemed a tad shy at first, but when she spoke to him, his demeanor and expression lightened considerably. She wondered, if she hadn't been outside, would he have come up to the house? He was definitely more interested in Hawkman than her. The fact he'd mentioned her husband being a private investigator did throw up a red flag.
She finally stood, and groaned. This bending over was killing her back. The biggest bed was now done; she'd work on the other two tomorrow. Putting her implements into a bucket, she set them in the corner and went inside.
Before retiring, Hawkman locked up the aviary. He didn't always take this precaution, but tonight he decided to follow his instinct.
The night had turned warm, so when Hawkman and Jennifer went to bed, they opened the sliding glass door and the window above their heads. An owl hooted in the distance and the critters of the dark made their ways across the lawn, occasionally climbing onto the deck, only to be frightened off by a loud squawk from Pretty Girl. The water from the lake lightly rippled against the shoreline, making a soft soothing sound.
Jennifer dropped off to sleep almost immediately, and Hawkman could hear her deep steady breathing. He lay staring at the ceiling and watched the leaping shadows made from the moon's reflection, as it bounced off the water. Turning from side to side, he couldn't get comfortable and wondered if they should buy a new mattress. He kept glancing at the alarm clock and the minutes were ticking off rather rapidly. When the hands hit midnight, the squawks of Pretty Girl rent the air to the point it sounded like a war zone.
Hawkman jumped from the bed and Jennifer bolted to a sitting position. “I've never heard her make such a racket before. Something's wrong.” He grabbed his gun from the holster slung over the chair and hurried out the sliding glass door. Crouching behind the aviary, his gun poised, he peeked around the corner. Not seeing a thing, he slowly moved to the side, then to the front of the cage.
"Easy, girl,” he said, softly to the bird as he checked the interior of her cage. The moon gave plenty of light and he could see no snake had entered her domain. She continued to flap her wings and squawk, but less intensely. Suddenly, Hawkman heard a crunching noise like wheels on gravel. He charged around the side of the house and when he leaped around to the front, he spotted a bicycle turning the corner at the fence line and high tailing it down the road.
When he returned to the bedroom, Jennifer looked at him wide-eyed. “What caused all that ruckus?"
"I'm not sure, but I'm going back out and examine her cage better.” He hurried into the living room and flipped on the outside light. Removing both the falcon's water and food, he brought them inside. He poured the dry pellets onto a paper towel, scrubbed both bowls with a detergent, rinsed each thoroughly, then filled them with fresh water and food. He returned to the aviary, swept out the floor, replaced the containers, then locked up the cage.
